


Raid

by PygmyPyromaniac



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: (?), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, additional tags to be added as necessary, everybody gets therapy, not very graphic but it's in there, twitch streamer au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29746917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PygmyPyromaniac/pseuds/PygmyPyromaniac
Summary: Suddenly the chat went by much faster than it had all night. He quickly scanned chat, and behind a sudden wall of varying combinations of the word ‘simp’, he found the cause.aKILLeus: hey patroclusAnd thenaKILLeus: STFU STOP CALLING ME A SIMPaKILLeus: wait who has syphilis??
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus, Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Automedon & Patroclus, Briseis & Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 193
Kudos: 181





	1. Tryhard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A person who puts too much effort into winning a game.

It was about an hour into Patroclus’ late night Sunday stream. He was playing _Darkest Dungeon_ , a game that wasn’t as popular as his usual picks and, despite its dark themes, he mostly played to relax. It was hard as hell but turn based, so he could just stream some music and absentmindedly talk without getting so distracted he messes up. The chat was slow enough that he could read it fairly easily and actually respond to it, although at the moment it mostly consisted of his moderators bullying him for using the Arbalest instead of the Musketeer in his party.

“Hey, the Arbalest gets a lot of shit but she’s a well rounded support hero!”

**EEEpona** : _her heal is shit and its crit ratio aint worth it_

 **EEEpona** : _listen to the meta pat, you know this to be true_

This came from Auto, Pats first mod and one of his best friends, who he was a bit concerned for because it was even later at night where he was from and he knew for a fact he had school tomorrow. He decided not to call him out for it on stream but would be sending a strongly worded discord message if he was still on by midnight.

“Ok yeah-“ Pat let out a groan as the Sunken Crew dragged his Occultist out of combat in chains and began to drown him. He fucking hated fighting the Sunken Crew, they weren’t even that tough it just took _forever._ “Her heal isn’t great, but if you have an Occultist or a Cleric go after her _their_ healing is increased by 50%. Also c’mon she looks cool!”

**EEEpona** : _the musketeer looks cooler!!!_

“She wears little poofy Lord Farquad pants! Also, for the record I do have a Musketeer but she has syphilis, so-“

Suddenly the chat went by much faster than it had all night, and Pat was struck with a bolt of anxiety down his spine. He has had several nightmares about being caught without pants on stream or accidentally doxing himself, and the possibility he said or did something embarrassing in front of a thousand people (closer to a hundred at the moment) still haunts him despite all this time.

He quickly scanned chat, and behind a sudden wall of varying combinations of the word ‘simp’, he found the cause.

aKILLeus: _hey patroclus_

And then

aKILLeus: _STFU STOP CALLING ME A SIMP_

aKILLeus: _wait who has syphilis??_

Patroclus couldn’t help the little snort of laughter he let out at this, even as his anxiety wavered back to a new cause.

Because to be honest, he really doesn’t know what Achilles’ deal is.

Of course Patroclus _knows_ who Achilles is, anyone in his profession would (it still feels weird to call streaming his profession, but more often than not as of late it’s paying his bills better than his seasonal life guard duty) but what’s weirder is that Achilles knows who _Pat_ is. And seems to enjoy his streams, if his donations and subscriptions and complimentary messages from the past few weeks are anything to go by.

And.... listen. Patroclus has done some growing up since being left out to dry by his dad. He isn’t the same scared little kid that could barely speak up, let alone make a friend out of fear of ridicule. He has two jobs that he takes very seriously, one he really loves and the other he doesn’t hate. He has friends, _real_ friends who’ve gotten him through some tough shit, even though one of them lives across the country. He had to give up on his dream of being a vet, but he likes to think he’s toughened up from that heartache.

But, despite all this, Patroclus can’t help but wait for the punchline when it comes to Achilles.

Because that’s what it has to be, right?

So Patroclus decided to be a good sport. Smile and talk like this was all normal, and eventually when the rug was pulled and he finally got the joke he’d laugh it off good-naturedly and say ‘oh you got me there!’ and quietly imagine it didn’t hurt like hell for someone to pretend to like him like he was in middle-school again. Besides, his random appearances caused a bit of an increase in viewers, so who was he to complain about Achilles doing some harmless prank. He was just being overly sensitive.

Patroclus took this moment to remind his chat that “the mods are still up and spamming would get you a 24 hour ban” and take a drink from the pink water bottle Auto sent him for his birthday with the words ‘ **SORRY THIS GIRL IS ALREADY TAKEN BY A SMOKIN’ HOT GAMER** ’ printed on it, stalling a bit before he had to respond.

He settled back into his seat, directed his Arbalest to mark a bloated sailors corpse for death, and smiled as genuinely as he could at the webcam.

“Ha, hey Achilles! We’re playing Darkest Dungeon, and one of our possible party-members got syphilis.”

aKILLeus: _that can happen??_

The stream continued fairly normally after the chat calmed down at Achilles’ sudden appearance, although the highlight of the night had to be when Achilles said that the game looked like Paper Mario and Patroclus choked on his water. That had started a playfully heated argument that made him forget to be wary of Achilles for a while.

It was getting late (technically early), so Patroclus began winding the stream down for the night. He thanked the few donators he had again, repeating some advice to one who had asked him about dealing with depression, and said goodnight to a few of the people he recognized as longtime supporters as they left the stream. Just as he was about to wave good-bye, Achilles sent another message.

aKILLeus: _goodnight pat. sweet dreams <3_

Patroclus could feel the blush burning into his neck and his ears (which were luckily hidden in his headphones) as he stuttered out “Oh uh- goodnight!” and so when Auto said _OOOOO_ in chat like a goddamn 5th grader, he didn’t feel too guilty about hissing out “Don’t you have school tomorrow, _Epona?!”_

* * *

Almost immediately after the stream ended, Patroclus heard the familiar chime of a discord call. Automedon’s profile picture (a little ms-paint drawing of Epona Patroclus drew on one of his streams, at his request) bounced up and down on screen. Pat allowed himself a moment to stare up into the heavens (or the weird stain on his ceiling that looks vaguely like a cat, whichever) and silently pray for sanity before clicking to accept the call.

Despite fully expecting it, Patroclus still flinched at the sound of Automedon yelling into his microphone, which almost immediately peaked and gave out, rendering what he would assume to be an elongated “YOOOOOOO!” to come out more like “YO-KRRRH-....OOH..OH!”

Patroclus keeps telling him he needs to get a better mic but apparently Auto’s couple hundred viewers find it funnier. Pat hates it.

“Oh my god, how does your mother not hate you already? Isn't it like 3 am where you are?”

“Oh please, she has worse insomnia than me. She’s watching a documentary on rock climbing right now.”

Patroclus hummed, absentmindedly checking twitter, being extremely casual and trying to mentally project this to his teenage friend over voice call. “I keep telling you, you need to take your Concerta earlier in the day. It’ll keep you up, man.”

“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah-” a few bangs ring out in time with the ‘yeahs’ from what Pat assumes is Auto slapping his desk “You can’t distract me Pat-”

Patroclus tried anyway, his voice steadily getting reedier and less casual. “Also aren’t you guys farmers or something? rise with the sun and all that-”

“- RANCHERS, Pat, and this tactic usually works but-”

“How are your horses, by the way?” His voice cracked.

“ _Patroclus._ ”

He winces, stops pretending to look at twitter, and silently curses the heavens (but not the vaguely cat-shaped stain on his ceiling, because she doesn’t deserve that) and accepts his fate. It was kind of a dick move to try and activate Automedon’s ‘rant about horses’ mode to avoid having to talk about this.

A sigh. “Yes, Auto?”

Auto’s voice was considerably quieter and sort of wavered, along with a rhythmic squeak, so he knew the teenager was leaning back and swinging around on his desk chair as he said “He liiiikes youuuu!”

Luckily his webcam wasn’t on, so Auto couldn't tease him for the raging blush this fucking schoolyard taunt caused, along with the sickly swoop in his gut which he could only describe as feeling like poisoned hope. 

“Auto…” He groaned, hanging his head slightly “C’mon, man, you can’t be taking him seriously.”

The squeaking stopped. “What do you mean?”

“He’s- it's just-... I mean, come on, why the hell would he actually want to watch my stuff-”

“Pat-” Automedon tried to sharply interject with a familiarly chastising tone.

“- No, I’m serious Auto. I’m not…” Patroclus took a deep breath and thought through his words, “I like what I make, and other people do too-” Automedon hummed encouragingly “- but it really doesn’t make sense other than, well, y’know…” Pats voice tapered out pitifully.

“What?” Patroclus was really starting to hate how good Auto was at sounding like a disappointed teacher. Pat deflated in his chair, slumping down a few inches as he finally spoke what's been weighing on him.

He thinks it should feel relieving, but it just pushes the knife a little further between his ribs.

“He’s probably just joking around. Watch the little streamer have a heart attack because he subbed to me, or something.” Pat paused, waiting to see if Auto would interject, but his silence lets Patroclus know he was going to let him get it all out. “Maybe he’s doing something like with Dio or Nobody where they donate to little streamers to get their reactions. I mean, he’s not exactly quiet about his opinions on creators he thinks are boring or talentless, schlocky hacks. And all the little…” the first word that came to mind was ‘flirting’, but he wasn't ready to admit that to himself, “Messages and stuff is just like… B-roll?”

There are a few quiet moments after Patroclus’ confession peters out where he is confronted with the familiar feeling of embarrassment at his own childishness. Here he was, a 25 year old man, airing his grievances to a 17 year old from Texas about a guy he’d never met who was messing with him a little online. Before he could spiral too far down those thoughts though, Automedon spoke up again, this time with a gentler (although still dubious) tone.

“Patroclus. First of all, if you think someone is messing with you, you don’t have to put up with that shit-”

“It’s not that big a deal-”

“- It is! Don’t interrupt me Pat, lemme talk for a bit.”

Patroclus hummed uneasily, but complied.

Auto let a pointed sigh out of his nose, “It _is_ a big deal, dude, because it’s obviously hurting your feelings. Just because you think it shouldn’t doesn’t mean you can’t, y’know, stick up for yourself. _Also-_ ” Auto’s chair squeaked again and his voice got a bit louder and scratchier, so Pat assumed he had leaned forward even more, “I actually watch Achilles pretty regularly, thank-you-very-much, so believe me when I tell you that _doesn’t make any fucking sense._ ”

“What-”

“Shbbshsh!” Auto slapped his desk again “No talkie!”

Patroclus made a vaguely offended noise in the back of his throat and settled more into his chair.

“Yeah, Achilles talks shit on people he thinks are hacks, but you know what he really fucking hates? Pranks and reactionary content! The only reason he hangs out with Dio and Nobody is because they’re the only ones who are cool with how much he openly hates on them. _And!_ ” Auto slapped his desk again, harder this time, and hisses in pain for a second before continuing, “Why the hell would he stick around this long just to mess with you for a video? He’s been watching for like, weeks now, and doesn’t even say anything much half the time!”

“How do you know that?” Pat waved his hands out despite Auto not being able to see him.

Auto let out a frustrated groan that was very stereotypically _teenager-ish_ “Because, _dude!_ I’m your mod _and_ a fan of Achilles. How could I miss that shit?”

Patroclus slumped over his keyboard and mumbled into his hands as he rubbed his face “Auto... “ his face surfaced from his palms, one hand still squished into his cheek, “When did you get so emotionally mature?”

Automedon melodramatically shouted “I LEARNED IT FROM WATCHING _YOU!_ ” into his shitty mic, which made it sound more like “I - NED IT ---- OM WATCHING _Y---OO!_ ” but Pat laughed anyway.

Patroclus let out a shaky breath, something they both seemed to be doing a lot tonight, and rubbed his eyes from the glare of his computer screen.

“Ok,” He faux-reluctantly conceded, “I’ll admit my reasoning was probably more based on my anxiety than anything. But I mean-” Auto let out a warning hum, but Pat continued “- Isn’t it a _little_ weird he likes my streams considering he’s, y’know, _Achilles_?”

“Not really!” Auto chirped, no longer in ‘my anxious/depressed friend needs a reality check mode’, “I mean, just because he’s a speedrunner and professional tournament-thing-guy doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy some laid-back stuff. Give yourself some credit!”

Patroclus chuckled a bit with a genuine and soft “Thanks, man.” and although not fully convinced, still feeling much better, and let the conversation lull as he picked up his phone again. It immediately opened to Twitter where he was pretending to look earlier to distract himself.

He doesn’t have that much of a following and tends to avoid Twitter, but he likes to give updates on his schedule and was debating if he should add some new channel point rewards when he noticed he actually had a few notifications. He scrolled through them absently. A few new follows, an artist who drew him a cute little picture of his Stardew Valley character (which he immediately retweets and makes a note to ask if they do commissions later), but freezes as he’s scrolling.

“Uhhh, Auto?”

“Yuh-huh.” From the sound of it Automedon was also absently doing something, as just chilling in a call without talking much was pretty normal between them.

“I think, umm,” Pat clicked on the notification and just to be sure and, yup, the little grey square next to their name that says _Follows You_ confirms it, “I think Achilles just followed me on twitter.”

Silence.

“Wait, no-” Pat checks again. “... He’s been following me for like a week.”

Automedon let out an unholy screech that both peaked his mic and, if the cut off sputtering was any indication, motivated his mom to throw a slipper at his head.


	2. Support/Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A role or character in a video game or RPG meant to heal, buff or otherwise assist other characters.

Behind another computer screen some hours away, Achilles pressed his face into his hands and barely resisted the urge to wiggle in his chair. He had that message typed and ready to send for the past 10 minutes and was just barely able to scrape together enough courage to actually send it before the stream ended. With a heart. A heart! _Oh my god that was so stupid._ Why did he send a heart?!

He slid his hands from his face up to his scalp, tugging on his long hair as he slouched a good foot down his chair in silent agony. Then not so silent agony as he let out a steadily rising yell to release the wound up springs in his chest. The room had sound padding. His neighbors could deal.

Actually, you know what, he wanted someone to share in his misery. It’s only fair. Achilles straightened up from melting off into the floor and opened Discord, immediately clicking to the aptly named **_‘Bastards Only Club (+ Ajax)’_ ** server (Ironically named because Ajax was technically the only actual bastard out of their group, as far as Achilles knew). A few people were online, but the only ones in a call in the _Not Recording/Live_ category were Dio, Ajax and Ulysses.

Achilles joined the call. Dio’s and Ulysses’ web cams were on while it looked like Ajax was sharing his screen as he 3D modeled something in Maya.

Dio held a large and expensive looking drone in his lap as he struggled to cut some duct tape with his teeth and attach a kitchen knife to the extension at the bottom meant to hold a camera, while Ulysseus was neck deep in what looked like the mangled corpse of a computer's hard drive, soldering pen in hand and protective equipment over his hands and face. Ajax was sculpting the pecks on a much too muscular looking anthropomorphic wolf.

Achilles joins the call in the middle of Ajax saying “- understand why you don’t just give Glaukos his 300 dollars back.”

Dio spoke around the duct tape in his teeth “It’s the-” he tore a strip and spit it out “It’s the principle of the matter!”

“Aren’t you a literal millionaire.”

“Hey!” Diomedes huffed as he wrapped more tape around the knife and the little plastic arm thing, “It’s tacky to talk about money.”

“You bought a lamborghini just so you could drive it into Agamemnon’s pool.”

“And!” He held up the now weaponized drone proudly “It was funny.”

Achilles made his presence known by doing the exact same yell he did earlier with just as much passion.

Ulysses didn’t look up from his work and just said “Good evening, Achilles.” while Dio flinched so hard he nearly dropped his drone. “Hey c’mon man, this knife is way too close to my crotch for you to pull that shit!”

Ajax’s screen showed him pulling up a drawn reference of the same wolf, and using the grease pencil tool to outline where he should model the fur. “Did Hector kick your ass in League again?”

“That has never happened and there is no empirical evidence of that ever happening and no shut up,” Achilles said all in one breath, then slowing to a quieter and more reverent tone, “It’s just… He’s so beautiful!”

Dio and Ulysses let out a harmonized groan while Ajax made a little noise of confusion before snapping in revelation, “Ohhh, you mean that cam-boy you like?”

“OH MY GOD HE’S NOT A CAM-BOY!”

“Nothing wrong with being a cam-boy, Achilles.” Ulysses seriously intoned.

Dio clicked his tongue, “Yeah man, sex work is real work.”

“I WILL DRIVE TO YOUR HOUSE AND BITE YOU.”

Just as Diomedes brightly said “Kinky!” Ajax overlapped with “Honestly not your most creative threat.”

Achilles’ face was getting dangerously red and just as he was seriously considering breaking his computer over his knee and/or leaking some very incriminating drunk voicemails, Ulysses finally paused his… whatever he was doing and set down his equipment with the sigh of a world weary man. “Alright, Achilles, what's the problem?”

Achilles leans back on his much too expensive computer chair, arms folded. “Why does there have to be a problem?”

“Why else would you voluntarily talk to us off stream?”

“Because…” Achilles squinted and worked his jaw, voice lilting into a question “You are my… friends?”

“Love the vote of confidence.” Diomedes had a new, slightly smaller drone in his lap and more duct tape.

“UGHH.” Achilles threw his head back on his chair and threw his arms over the armrests, tilting dangerously back on the chair legs before dropping forward again. “I just- he’s just so- ugh!”

Diomedes mumbled “Hurry it up-” around some tape before Ajax hushed him with a stage whispered “He’s being emotionally vulnerable, shush!”

“I just-” Achilles slouched in his chair again, dragging his hair a bit behind his head, “I think he’s amazing.”

Diomedes looked up from his homemade murder robot, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Ulysses’ protective gear shielded his expression (he was big on privacy even off stream for some reason, so he either wore his gear or kept his camera off) but his hands went slack and lowered to his table, and even Ajax paused working on his commission and gave a low, surprised whistle.

Achilles got defensive in this silence, crossing his arms again and leaning away slightly, ears flushed. “What?”

“I’ve just never heard you talk like that before,” Ulysses’ smile could be heard in his voice, along with the slightest hint of delighted incredulousness, “It’s like pulling teeth with you to admit someone is good, even just decent, but _amazing?”_

“Must be some cam-boy.”

Achilles growled, and was seriously considering leaking that voicemail again when Ulysses waves him off, too curious about this development to indulge in torturing Achilles too much. “What makes him so ‘amazing’?”

“He just is, okay!” Achilles was starting to regret talking to his friends (co-workers? People he talks to) about this, but could tell Ulysses was intrigued, and it was much better to indulge him then to pull back and make him more curious. Curious Ulysses was dangerous. Besides now that he was talking about Patroclus he couldn’t seem to stop himself, “He’s just so smart and chill and funny and nice and sometimes he snorts when he laughs too hard!”

There was a pregnant pause between this confession where Achilles steadily got redder and redder, this time not from unadulterated rage, before the silence was broken by Ajax’s astonished _“Ohhh,_ you got it _bad._ ”

Before he could scramble to defend himself, Dio leaned forward, “Yeah man, I thought you just had the hots for a cute streamer but you actually _like_ him!”

Achilles floundered a bit at this, _really_ regretting logging on now, because- they’re not _wrong,_ but he still hates how smug he sounds and wants to refute him somehow. This is one of the very few times Achilles regrets not taking up Diomedes’ offer to be his roommate, because at least then he could go to his room and kick him or something.

Ulysses leaned back a bit on his chair (not to the point of having to balance on the legs like Achilles’ bad habit) and put his hand to his chin, slowly stroking his short curly beard. “You should know better than anyone the dangers of a parasocial relationship, Achilles.”

Achilles rolled his eyes at this, shoulders tensing at the tone. “It’s not a- I’m not like, stalking the guy! And I do wanna actually, y’know _talk_ to him. One-on-one,” The thought of it causes an embarrassingly strong swoop of nervousness and excitement in his belly, “I just haven’t really gotten the chance to yet.”

Ajax spoke around what sounded like a mouthful of chips “Why don’t you dm him on twitter or something?”

Achilles' mouth screwed up in a pout, mumbling “He doesn’t follow me, I don’t wanna come out of nowhere like a creep.”

“You’re already being a creep, dude.” Diomedes pointed out, talking big words for a man who sent a voicemail to Achilles after getting drunk and crashing his car into a tree nursery.

“What's his twitter handle?” While Achilles was distracted Ulysses had taken out his phone.

Achilles pretended to pause to have to remember it “@Pat_ovOpus.”

“Well I’m happy for you Achilles,” Ajax was back to his modeling, beveling smooth blockily rendered nipples on a, and I cannot stress this enough, _uncomfortably_ muscular wolf-man. “I haven’t heard you be this excited about something in a long time.”

Achilles didn’t like this whole emotional vulnerability thing. Got to put some distance. “Did you imagine you’d be using your mixed media arts and animation degree to make 3D models for furry porn games?”

Ajax gave a good natured laugh and shrug which just sounded like a slight shuffle, “Hey, the furries pay the big bucks. Besides this is just an individual commision, I don’t actually have to rig it or anything.”

“Hmm. Achilles?” Ulysses looked up from his phone.

He didn’t trust that tone. “What?”

“Are you sure Pat’s not following you?”

Achilles was frozen for only a moment before he nearly knocked his phone (and both of his monitors) off his desk in his haste to pick it up, throwing his limbs wildly. He was hunched over the side of his chair, using his entire body to shield the screen of his phone from the webcam. Achilles nearly broke it in half when twitter took more than an entire three seconds to load, and once it did he immediately went to Patroclus’ twitter page (knowing trying to look through all of his notifications and mentions would be futile) and sure enough, the little grey _Follows You_ right next to his name and under his profile picture, a headshot of Patroclus’ at the beach with a shy smile, curly hair blown into his eyes.

The victorious shout Achilles let out would surely come to haunt him in the form of another noise complaint taped to his door, and the fact he just kicked his modem and probably broke it against the opposite wall was gonna suck to deal with later, but Achilles really really _really_ couldn’t find it in himself to care, or to do anything other than dance around his room pumping his fists in the air and kicking out his legs at random intervals because _“Patroclus followed me back!”_

* * *

Patroclus was having a bad day. Or, no, actually all things considered it was an exceptionally good day. Lucky day, at least, but that didn’t really help when his hands shook so badly he could barely get his key into the door.

He went through the motions of his after work ritual, mostly because he knew if he stopped or laid down he wouldn’t be able to get back up again, and needed something to occupy his hands so his racing thoughts couldn’t overwhelm him. Took a quick shower to rinse off the saltwater, changed into sweat pants and a hoodie washed so many times they were as soft as cashmere, considered making coffee but decided he should really dig into that box of peppermint tea Bri got him and held the warm mug in both hands, breathing in the steam.

“Today was a good day.” Patroclus mumbled this like a mantra into the warm mug, so that whatever spirits or gods of fate and luck knew he was thankful, so, _so_ thankful, even though it was getting really hard not to cry because this tea was _so nice_ and Bri was _such a good friend_ and life was so _beautiful_ and _terrifying._

Pat debated whether or not to cancel tonight's stream as he really wasn’t in the mental space to be at his best, but it was a friday night and people tend to feel more generous near the weekend for whatever reason, and as summer was turning into autumn, Patroclus needed to start saving up money so he could sustain himself on nearly half of his current hourly wages to work as an indoor pool lifeguard (if any openings were even available). Besides, this was his job too. He doesn't want to disappoint anyone anymore than he has to. _Suck it up._

So Pat did his best to pull himself together in the hour and a half he had before his scheduled stream time. He took deep, measured breaths, texted back and forth with Bri who immediately checked up on him after her own shift ended, and watched videos of baby puppies which he had to stop halfway through because he felt like he was going to cry again.

He turned off his main room light so he was only illuminated by a lamp on his nightstand and the fairy lights he hung behind him giving his room and his face a soft glow, which even he could admit to himself looked nice on camera, even if it was cheesy, and started his stream.

Patroclus got off to a fairly normal start, if not a bit strained where he tried to seem enthusiastic as his viewership had gone up a bit. He had made plans to play _Stardew Valley,_ but after playing for about half an hour it became more obvious how distracted he was as he died nearly three times in a row trying to mine in Skull Cavern.

“Uh, hey guys,” Patroclus tried to swallow the dread at the possibility of disappointing his viewers, quietly reminding himself that they liked him for his emotional honesty too. Probably. Maybe. “You can probably tell I’m not on my best game today, is it cool if I just doodle and we can talk?”

Pretty quickly he got their responses, mostly in the tone of ‘sure why not’, a few disappointed complaints and even some hearts from a few regulars Pat recognized. Patroclus opened up a cheap drawing program he bought after some people complained about him using ms-paint all the time, played the album _Plantasia_ over the stream quietly, and began drawing a cat (similar to the cat shaped stain on his ceiling, which Pat thinks might have gotten bigger and likes to quietly pretend she's pregnant, even if he's vaguely concerned there might be a pipe leak) with his mouse.

As he was shakily drawing whiskers around her chubby face and trying not to think about anything, he got a notification for a donation and message a few seconds before it popped up on the stream. Patroclus did his best to give a gracious smile, but froze when he saw the message. And the messenger.

**_aKILLeus_ Donated 20$! **

_is something wrong?_

Patroclus blinked stupidly for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth and probably looking like an idiot, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be self-conscious at the moment, because he is all at once embarrassed and a bit angry at Achilles for calling him out like that, as well as hopelessly touched that he noticed his change in mood. It’s pathetic of him, he knows, and he had seen some other passing messages in chat asking if he was tired or something (which he ignored) but it’s different when he knows Achilles is asking. It shouldn’t be, but it is.

He is just barely able to recover quick enough to not seem too put out, and begins to reassure him with a watery smile and a “Yeah, I’m fine, I mean…” but slowly tapers off. He mentally chants _They like me for my emotional honesty. They do, they do, they do_ to drown out the nastier and older voice telling him to _Shut the fuck up. You’re being annoying. You’re too sensitive. Stop whining. Suck it up._

Pat sighs, and releases some of the tension in his shoulders. _The world’s not as mean as it looks_. “To be honest, It’s been a rough day.” He pauses to take a drink from his lukewarm tea and gather his thoughts so he doesn’t just immediately break down in front of 200 people. “As some of you probably know, I’m a lifeguard at a beach not too far from where I live.” He begins fiddling with a loose thread on his hoodie to occupy his hands, now that they’re starting to feel unsteady. “The waters there are usually pretty calm and the most I have to deal with in a day are people imagining they saw a shark in the water or the occasional confused tourist who thinks it’s a nudist beach.” He tries to make himself chuckle a bit, but it comes out as more of a wheeze. He coughs to try and cover it up.

“Anyway, uh, the waters were a bit choppier today so we had to keep an eye out even more than usual but, uhm…” Patorclus’ voice cracked a bit, and he could feel the tears rising in his throat and behind his eyes, so he took a few breaths. _Don’t cry you fucking wuss._

“I didn’t-didn’t notice a rip-tide had come in until a kid got caught up in it. Her dad was so scared, and- fuck…” Pat lifted up his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying in vain to catch the tears before they could fall. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck._

He tried taking a few deep breaths again, but it just made him sniffle and choke. _Fuck._

“Her-her dad was so scared, and I couldn’t see her at first because she got pulled under, and by the time I got to her she was unconscious which is,” He swallowed back a sob and gave a rueful smile, “ _Really_ bad.”

Pat involuntarily let out a loud sniffle and tried to continue, but had to pause and try to get his breathing under control. He could see out of the corner of his eye Automedon was messaging him on discord reassuring him that it was ok to end the stream early. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily, but his voice still wavered and cracked pathetically. He rubbed his face with both hands.

“It’s stupid, I shouldn’t- I don’t know why im crying. She’s ok, I got to her in time and did CPR and she’s _fine,_ she’ll be _fine, it’s fine-”_ Fresh tears were rolling down his face now, and he gave up trying not to cry. At least for now. They already know he’s fuckwit.

“It’s just-... What if I wasn’t, y’know? What if I didn’t see her in time and she was under the water for-for-for another minute _and-”_ His voice broke again. “I just… It was _so fucking close.”_

Pat continued to wipe at his face and try to take deep breaths with a mumbled “Sorry, I need a minute”, but it seemed finally getting that off of his chest helped as the tears slowed to a trickle and he was able to breathe normally again after a few minutes. His voice still wavered and was a bit rough, but was much steadier now than it had been.

“Ugh, I’m sorry guys, that was embarrassing, I’m just being stupid. Sorry for ruining the mood.” Patroclus took up his mouse again and absently added little eyebrows to the forgotten cat drawing (and totally avoided even glancing at chat), knowing the stream was probably unsalvageable but he could at least make an effort. “After that happened my boss said I could go home early and I accidentally called him dad. Plus a kid punched my dick earlier that morning, so overall a pretty traumatic day.”

A few seconds go by before he hears the chime of a donation again.

  
  


**_aKILLeus_ Donated 100$! **

_you’re not being stupid. a kid almost drowned_

  
  


Patroclus barely finished reading it before he got another.

  
  
  


**_aKILLeus_ Donated 100$! **

_and you saved her life. you are a hero Patroclus_

  
  


“Thats- I just- uhm.” It was suddenly very hard to speak again, and Patroclus’ tear-bruised eyes welled up anew at the words. He tried to laugh it off, “I'm really not. I was just doing my job, y’know. Besides, I don’t really feel like a hero or anything, mostly just feel-” he gave a choked laugh, and said the rest in one shaky breath _“Fucking terrified.”_

He only gets a few more moments to try and collect himself.

**_aKILLeus_ Donated 100$! **

_it wouldn’t be bravery if you weren’t scared. and you ARE a hero, pat_

Patroclus can only blink through the tears as he reads this, and like a floodgate is opened he is bombarded with similar messages and donations (although with considerably less money behind it, which Patroclus doesn’t even know how to begin dealing with being given _300 dollars)_ calling him things like a _hero_ and _brave_ and that _it was ok to cry._ At first Pat hides his face in his hands, but eventually his heart gets so full all he can do is wetly laugh at how fucking _ridiculous_ and _wonderful_ it all is and beg his chat to stop or he was going to get a headache from all the crying.

Eventually it calms down to a simmer and Pat is able to blow his nose and genuinely thank each donor and new subscription, voice hoarse as hell but a sincere smile nearly breaking his face. He decided to battle his anxiety he might as well be useful doing so, and began showing pictures of rip-tides and giving detailed instructions on how to spot one and what to do if you get caught in one.

A chime.

  
  


**_aKILLeus_ Donated 100$! **

_btw is ur dick ok?_

He doubled over his armrest, laughing until it hurt (which wasn’t that hard, his throat was sore as hell) and letting out a loud and unattractive snort he would deny for the rest of his days. He could barely resist giggling through responding “Yes, Achilles, not to fear. I think he’s gonna make a full recovery.”

  
  


**_aKILLeus_ Donated 100$! **

_THANK GOD_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Patrochilles *writes another chapter of them barely interacting*  
> I'm realizing as I write this more and more its just like 'therapy time for Patroclus' but I refuse to write a character with anxiety who doesn't get better and actively fights negative self talk because I'm sexy like that. Also I'm projecting but I'm driving the car I get to pick the station 
> 
> as I was planning out this chapter I was really torn between having Achilles talk to them or not, because Achilles in my mind isn't the friendliest dude but I hate writing a bunch of internal dialog and I wanted to have Diomedes call Pat a cam-boy


	3. Easter Egg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hidden feature in a commercially released product.

It was the day after the… Let’s just call it ‘dramatic’ stream. It was 12 o’clock in the evening, 1 o’clock rapidly approaching, and Patroclus was still in bed. Despite it being the weekend this was pretty unusual for him, as he tried to keep a consistent sleep schedule to aid his more depressive tendencies, as well as the fact even though he wasn’t scheduled to work today, Saturdays were mandatory ‘in-service’ days, or days where the entire staff would come together for an hour or so to practice basic rescue skills and test their endurance.

Patroclus woke up at around 10 from the sunlight filtering through his window in a panic, his phone dead under his shoulder from where he fell asleep talking to Bri, and missed his alarm. He rushed around his room haphazardly gathering his buoy, uniform, first response kit and nearly popping his shoulder out of socket trying to reach his whistle that somehow fell under his bed. His phone began charging and immediately pinged with backlogged messages.

Patroclus ran over to his phone, internally debating how many traffic laws were too many to break despite the futility of trying to get there on time, when he opened the message he got from his boss.

_Good Morning Mr. Megalêtor,_

_I just want to commend you again how well you handled yesterday's incident. Those waters snuck up on all of us, and we couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome. I’ve been informed the girl has already made a full recovery, only with minor lung abrasions and bruising around the ribs. No sign of brain hypoxia._

_Don’t worry about coming for in-service today. I’m sure you’re exhausted, and as you’ve clearly shown yesterday a refresher is probably not needed this week._

_I am very proud of you son. Lol._

_-Chiron_

_(Sent 7:16 AM)_

As Patroclus’ panic was slowly replaced by the whiplash of reading his boss’ signature letter-style texts with the word ‘lol’ and dying of embarrassment at being reminded of his slip up, he was finally able to feel all the aches his body was screaming with, not to mention his crusty eyes and sore throat and that weird feeling he always got after a big emotional release, like his brain was made of rubber. Overall, totally physically and emotionally exhausted.

So here he was now, curled up in his bed, head just barely poking out from the tangle of quilts and one extremely ugly blanket Bri knitted, purposefully stalling from doing what he knows he needs to do. Or should do. It’s an obligation, really. Nothing personal.

Ok he really wants to message Achilles but also the thought of actually doing so makes him kinda want to throw up, so he procrastinates.

He checked his mentions, wincing a bit at the attention some clips from last night had gotten. It was mostly supportive (something that was still hard not to read as a joke, or like he was tricking people into liking him, especially as they piled on), a few people calling Achilles a simp or saying Patroclus was making it up for attention. One guy went on a weirdly long rant on why soy was making men cry more often in the replies, which was not a rabbit hole Patroclus wanted to explore in his free-time.

He types up a carefully worded tweet about how he was fine but needed the day off (it still ate at him to miss a day, but honestly his thighs were so sore he had to shuffle to the bathroom like an old man and even sitting up sounded taxing) and how he’d be back the next day at the usual time.

With that out of the way he had no more excuses not to dm Achilles. Besides, he was probably offline right now anyway. Pat could send the message and have some time to not panic about it.

His voice cracked in a yelp as Achilles almost immediately liked his tweet. Shit.

He didn’t have to message him _right now,_ Patroclus the cowardly assured himself. Achilles might message him first. Or not at all. Not at all is also fine.

He groaned and flopped his head back on his pillow, throwing his arms out and curling his toes into the sheets. No, that wouldn’t be fine. Because for as much as Pat has tried to talk himself out of his own feelings, he likes Achilles. Wants to thank him personally. Wants to get to know him. Maybe even be his friend, if he gets the chance.

It really feels like he shouldn’t, and sometimes he’ll get into his own head, psychoanalyzing himself and wondering if it's just some fucked up attachment he developed due to his lonely childhood or something. And because Achilles was famous and paying him a bit of attention. And because he was sweet. And funny. And honestly kind of an asshole, if the highlights Patroclus has watched of him shamelessly taunting his competitors before destroying them in tournaments were any indication, but is also extremely ashamed to admit, even in his own mind, that that kind of self-assuredness was very. Uh. Interesting.

Stop. You’re being creepy. He won’t want to talk to you if you’re a creep.

What would he even message him about to start a conversation? ‘ _Hi Achilles, I know we have nothing in common and have never had a private conversation, and I’m still kinda pissed your message made me cry on stream, but thanks for the cash.’_

Aaaand he just remembered Achilles sent him over 500 dollars last night. Definitely some kind of attachment disorder.

 _No wait._ Patroclus perked up from his cocoon, picking his phone back up from where it flopped uselessly out of his hand as he was catastrophizing. _That’s my in._

He opened twitter again, not allowing himself a moment to stop and reconsider, as that is the only way to get around his anxiety sometimes. Go fast enough and it can’t catch you. Besides, if he thought too hard about what to say he’d spend three hours in his notes app trying to write the perfect message, then leave it forgotten among the hundreds of pages of bad poetry and shopping lists within.

He goes to Achilles’ page, taps the little envelope icon, types the message.

Pauses. Thumb hovering over send, heart in his throat, birds outside and children yelling in the courtyard below his apartment. There are no lights on in his room, just the cracked open window and the sun bouncing off dust in the air, like miniscule fairies. _The world’s not as mean as it looks_.

But what if it is?

_You will survive it. You have survived worse._

Huh. That voice… almost sounded like his own.

He sends it.

  
  


_Hey Achilles, I wanted to say thank you for last night, and of course_ _for all the support you’ve shown me. It means a lot to me. But I know_ _500 dollars is a lot of money, so if you need me to refund you just let me know_

(Wait, that makes it sound like I think Achilles is poor.)

_Not that I think you need the money_

(THAT'S WORSE NOW IT SOUNDS LIKE I WANT HIS MONEY.)

  
  


_I just alsodont; need it_

_that muhc_

_but I appreceite it alot_

_so_

_thanks_

  
  
  


A strange calm washes over Patroclus, like a man walking to the gallows who has already accepted his death, and for a few moments he just gazes serenely at his phone and screams internally. Then he screams externally and throws his phone across the bed as he sees the little grey _(Read 12:57 PM)_ tag appear beneath his messages.

After staring into nothing and absorbing his impending doom for a little bit (y’know, as a treat) Patroclus pulled one of the pillows from behind his head and screamed into it, which really isn’t doing any favors for his already scratchy throat. Maybe if he pressed hard enough he could smother himself and be reincarnated as a mongoose or a dolphin or something. Actually scratch that, he’s too big of a fuckup to come back as a dolphin. That's got to be like, way up there in reincarnation terms. You've got to save a lot of baby puppies from a fire to be able to come back as a dolphin, which Patroclus will never be able _to do now_ because he had to give up on going to _vet school_ because he- oh this is actually making him light headed he should stop.

He threw the pillow from his face with a gasp and settled back into his shell of blankets, settling on whisper-screaming while tensing his entire body all at once (which was a mistake because, ow, sore muscles) so as not to disturb the kids still running around outside his apartment window.

Patroclus took a deep breath and let it out, melting back into a person shaped dent in his bed, and just stared at nothing until he could feel his limbs again. His ribcage still felt like a vice and his mind burned like a hot stove, but slowly, ever so slowly like he was approaching a wounded animal, he reached down and picked his phone back up.

_(Read 12:57 PM)_

It was 1:09 now.

…

…… 

Okay.

No, really, that's okay. Patroclus finally sits up, propped up on some bunched up pillows, phone loosely held in his lap. He smiles absently at the sound of one of the kids outside declaring something dramatically, much too high pitched to be actually decipherable, but grandiose all the same. He wonders what game they’re playing.

Patroclus isn’t sure what he expected, and is quietly thankful no one was around to see his melodramatics. He’s a little relieved, honestly. Now he doesn’t have to second guess every little thing, or try to be likeable enough to fool Achilles into wanting to be his friend. He fucked up, but at least he was honest in presenting himself. The whole package, baby.

His phone buzzed in his hand.

His entire arm jerked and he nearly threw his phone to the wall but was able to stop himself at the last moment, instead tossing it a few inches in the air and fumbling with it between his hands until it fell into his lap.

It buzzed again. And again.

Patroclus unlocked his phone.

_sorry had to run back home_

_broke my phone_

_and your welcome :) im not taking my money back tho. u deserve it_

  
  


_Wait, you broke your phone???_

_How?_

  
  


_slipped_

_Oh, well I’m sorry. Are you ok?_

_im amazing_

_can i call you on discord??_

Patroclus blinked rapidly, his heart skipping a few beats and a flush rising in his ears that drowned out all other noise. He had meant to break the ice, say thank you without an audience and maybe, _maybe_ chat for a little bit and see where that went, but it seemed Achilles wasn’t one to hesitate. His enthusiasm must have been infectious, because before he could even think it through, Pat had already responded.

_Sure_

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


What. That _worked?_

Achilles was standing over his computer desk, his flashy gaming chair kicked to the other side of the room in his haste, face flushed and sweaty and his chest still heaving from the dead sprint he did to get back home after he smashed his phone while nearly face-planting into the sidewalk. He had tripped over nothing except his own heart that fell out of his chest then flew into the stratosphere, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to be petulant over the random passerby who saw him trip or his splintered phone because holy shit _Pat messaged me he messaged me he messaged me!_

But now that Achilles was here, sending Patroclus his username and discord ID number, that elation quickly turned to dread. Because he had no idea what the fuck he was doing.

That had never really stopped him before, in fact his confidence in the face of any challenge more often than not paid off, as Achilles had found that half of success was just believing that you could do it. And Achilles knew he could do _anything._ And, even if it turned out he couldn't, odds are he didn’t care about it anyway.

But this was different. This wasn’t some League tournament he could win with his eyes closed or stupid FPS demo for a sponsor or even some petty, heated twitter argument he _knew_ he was overly invested in winning. This was _Patroclus._ The guy Achilles has been watching play games and draw and talk about philosophy and art and his depression, who listened to his viewers who told him about their own problems, and when he gave advice and support and said that everything was going to be okay you couldn’t help but believe him because he clearly knew what it was like _to not be okay._ He had the kind, dark eyes of a man who had been kicked and burned and bloodied by life but chose every day to be _good._ He was the first person Achilles had really cared about the opinion of in, well. Forever. And that was terrifying.

So now Achilles was preemptively checking himself out on his webcam, letting down his hair from where he tied it on his run, trying to slick it back a bit, (so it looked more like a stylishly long mohawk than the mullet Dio often tells him it is) quickly toweling down his face and arms so he didn’t look so weird and gross and trading his sweat stained tank top for a long sleeved henley his mom said he looked _dashing_ in. His mom was smart. “And,” he reminded himself as he dragged his chair back over to his computer, opening discord and waiting for the friend request, “She didn’t raise no quitter.”

The request came in, he accepted it, and pressed the _start video call_ button. It took a moment, two, three. Then, finally, after a blink of lag, there was Patroclus.

His mom, however, did raise a fool. Because Achilles could only stare.

It was Patroclus. There was no doubt of that, but he looked like Achilles had never seen him before. All the other times he had watched him, it was in the carefully positioned glow of the hanging fairy lights and dim table lamp that glinted against his glasses, his dark curls pulled a bit back by his over-ear headphones, and wrapped in one of his lovingly worn hoodies or sweaters.

This Patroclus was in the warm light of midday sun, skin glowing a tawny brown. His hair wild and bed-messed, sticking up behind his head in a tangle, his usually subtle facial hair surrounded by the dark stubble on his cheeks. His eyes looked a bit bloodshot and darkened, even bigger without the frames. Pat was using earbuds instead of the usual headset, and he dimly noticed his ears were pierced with little black studs. The plain white T-shirt he was wearing almost seemed indecent in comparison to his hoodies, as now Achilles could see a bit of the dark hair and subtle bulk of his arms and chest.

_Oh, that's right,_ Achilles dumbly mused, staring in what must be unnerving silence, _he’s a lifeguard. He could probably throw me over one shoulder and-_

“Uh, hey, are you there? I think you might’ve lagged out.”

Oh my god his _voice._ He sounded like he just woke up…

Wait, no, focus. Say something!

“Yes.” Fuck. “I mean- no. I’m. I’m here.” Achilles numbly lifted his hand in a little wave “Hi.” _Fuck!_

Patroclus giggled a bit, still sounding sleep rough, and lifted his hand as well. “Hi Achilles.”

He could feel his heart rearrange its arteries. _Say my name again._

“Hi Patroclus.”

Achilles lowered his hand. They just stared at each other.

Patroclus blinked. Achilles looked at his earrings again. Then his eyes. Then his mouth. A thought came to Achilles that did not feel like his own, that this must be what it had felt like for Pygmalion when Galatea took her first breath.

Pat suddenly let out a gust of air like he had just surfaced from a dive and Achilles flinched as he was broken from his reverie. The other man leant back, scrubbing his hands over his face and dragging his fingers through his hair and oh shit Achilles could see a sliver of his stomach where his shirt rode up-

“I’m sorry man!” Patroclus groaned to his ceiling before leaning forward again, one hand still in his hair, holding up his head as he leant on his desk “I’m super nervous right now.”

“Oh,” Achilles blinked, “Why?”

He chuckled into his palm and shook his head slightly before sitting up once again. “Just. Talking to you, I guess. It’s kinda weird.” his eyes widened “I mean- I’m sorry I’m being dumb, I’m just-” He groaned again, much quieter this time, and winced “I’m making this weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It’s kinda weird, dude.”

“No. I’ve decided it's not weird.”

This made Patroclus snort, then quickly try to hide it with a hand over his mouth, and Achilles decided that no, this wasn’t like Pygmalion and Galatea. This was better. Achilles had no part in this.

“Well then,” Pat lowered his hand and met his eyes again (or the nearest he could from his computer screen), a smile cutting into his cheeks “I guess it’s decided. Not weird.”

Achilles nodded solemnly, but Pats smile caught to his face like flame to dry kindling. “Hi, Patroclus.”

“Hi Achilles.”

_Say my name again, again, again, again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, what a weird last name. Wonder what that's about >:]
> 
> Are y'all sick of listening to Pat anxiety monologue or is it still fun?  
> Also, once again, fucking SORRY that they have only now like, 9000 words in, said hi to each other. This was not in the plan. I don't really have a plan but if I did "DON'T WRITE SLOWBURN" would probably be in bold letters at the top (ok I guess it’s not really slowburn it just feels like that while I’m writing)
> 
> I realized reading the chapters back that I swear ALOT and it's bleeding into my writing. I toned it down but I might edit the previous chapters in the future. Or maybe I'll leave 'em, grow from your mistakes and all that crap.
> 
> I'm planning on starting the next chapter right away as I'm feeling a bit on a roll, but I did just get my first dose of vaccine (yay!) and sometimes it can make you drowsy so we shall see.
> 
> One more thing. The support I've gotten for this fic so far is insane to me. This is only the second time I've ever published my writing, and the first time I've written anything in my own AU. I am simultaneously ridiculously happy and hopelessly confused as to why you all seem to like it so much, but I just assume you all have terrible taste like I do.  
> Know that I read and cherish each and every comment I get (usually yelping juuust a little bit when I get a notification for a new one), and if I don't reply to it, it is probably because I can't think of anything witty to say other than 'thank you I owe you my life and my firstborn'.
> 
> I'm planning on trying to draw Achilles again soon and his terrible haircut because I'm not sure how to describe it.  
> liking pat is an expensive hobby, what with all the simping and unintentional property damage.


	4. DLC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Additional content for a video game that is acquired through a digital delivery system.

**_aKILLeus_ ** **Donated 50$!**

_PATROCLUS. MOD ME._

“Oh my god- _Achilles!”_ Patroclus’ face shone with blue light from the monitor as he played _Subnautica,_ tone severe and chastising but obviously fighting a grin, “For the last time, I’m not going to mod you just so you can ban everyone who calls you a simp!”

  
  


**_aKILLeus_ ** **Donated 50$!**

_MOD MEEEE_

Pat was full on giggling now, blush slowly crawling up his face. “No!” His mouse shook with laughter, causing him to bump his submersible Seamoth into a coral bed, small sparks flying across the screen.

He righted himself with a little ‘ah!’ and continued steering the craft into the open ocean. He gave his webcam a withering glare, or the closest to one he could get while smiling like an idiot, _“Maybe_ you wouldn’t get called a simp if you didn’t donate so much! Plus you can just use chat, there are only like-“ he glanced over to double check “50 people watching stream tonight.”

  
  


**_aKILLeus_ ** **Donated 50$!**

_but you might miss my messages_ 🥺

“Alright, that’s it-“ Patroclus paused his game, turning his full attention over to chat. “Epona, put Achilles in baby jail.”

aKILLeus  : _DO NOT_

aKILLeus  : _EPONA_

**EEEpona:** _sorry man, boss says you gotta go_

aKILLeus  : _i will give you merch_

Pat straightened up, leaning closer to his screen. “No no no, _Epona-“_

**EEEpona** : _wait really_

aKILLeus  : _yes_

aKILLeus  : _i have a box of aristos jackets. manufacturer samples, haven’t been released yet_

**EEEpona** : _UHHHH_

 **EEEpona** : _PAT IM SORRY_

 **EEEpona** : _IM BEING PEER PRESSURED_

“It’s not peer pressure, it’s _bribery!”_ Patroclus fully turns over to the laptop he used to monitor his stream (because he hasn’t gotten around to buying a second monitor yet, shut up it’s effective) and manually bans Achilles from chat for an hour.

* * *

Patroclus had his phone propped against the open egg carton on his kitchen counter so that Achilles could see him as he shuffled around the cramped space in the early morning light, sleep stupid and mussed in a pair of basketball shorts and a hoodie.

“What’re you gonna make?” Achilles spoke around a bite of his protein bar, his hair still wet and dripping on his shoulders as he lounged in his computer chair. His voice was a little tinny from the phones speakers, but seemed to fill any room he was in anyway.

“Mm, I was thinking just eggs at first but I think- yes!” Pat pulled a pot of white rice out of his fridge, left over from the night before, and held it aloft triumphantly. “I have everything to make fried rice.”

“For breakfast?”

“Ohhh yeah.” He closes the fridge with his hip, setting the rice down near his phone and gathering vegetable oil, soy sauce, chili pepper and bacon and lining them up like little toy soldiers. He reached back into his fridge but found the organic mushrooms he bought had already turned slimy and limp. He threw them away mournfully. “Breakfast fried rice got me through a lot of hard times when money was tight, so I have perfected my technique.”

“Money’s not still tight though, right?”

Pat smiled at his concerned tone. What a sweetheart- good friend. He’s a _good friend._

“Nope, you’ve made sure of that,” he gave his phone the side eye “and so there’s no reason for you to keep doing that.”

“Doing what?” His tone was innocent but his smile showed his canines. The bastard.

“You know you have VIP status now, Achilles,” Patroclus turned on the stove, pouring on a thin layer of oil “You can just send a message without donating. Hell, you could just message me on discord.”

Achilles pushes his damp hair out of his face, exposing a bit of the wiry muscles in his arm (which Pat was not staring at because that would be weird and creepy to do to his friend) a pout replacing the grin on his lips. “What if someone donates more than me and I lose my spot as top donator? I can’t take that risk, Patroclus.”

He snorts, “I highly doubt anyone would want to catch up to you at this point. Or could.” He picks up a few eggs and begins cracking them into a bowl one by one.

“Yeah, well,” Achilles paused for a moment, and when Patroclus glanced over he seemed to be staring at something, a little lost in thought. The blond perked up though after a moment and met his eyes again with a smirk, “If I didn’t donate I’d miss out on your sweet blush whenever I do.”

  
“Ah!” Pat looked at the crushed egg in his hand, luckily only dripping into the bowl, but now intermixed with tiny eggshells. He reached into the bowl, picking out the shells and fighting back the flush on his face. It was out of embarrassment, yes, but also anger. _Because this,_ he thinks as Achilles’ low chuckle filled the space, _this is getting old._

The afternoon Patroclus actually spoke with Achilles for the first time was some of the most fun he’d had in a while. He has fun on streams of course, but there's always a bit of expectation and stress along with that, worrying about the right thing to say or do or whether his advice was helpful or just annoying, and overall just having to be ‘on’. While talking to Achilles one-on-one was absolutely nerve wracking at first, it was honestly hard not to break the ice with him. Achilles rammed through every boring social barrier that comes with first meetings, the tentative sussing out of personality and boundaries and ‘how are you’s’, with sheer enthusiasm and confidence.

There was a bit of an imbalance in their dynamic at first, of course. Achilles had already ‘known’ Patroclus for weeks now, while Patroclus had only known him through short messages and the occasional clip or tail end of a stream he would watch in his freetime. He was a bit worried that this imbalance would offend Achilles, but he didn’t seem to care that Patroclus wasn’t as big a fan of him as Achilles was of Patroclus. In fact, the blond relished in educating him of his own feats, which Pat knows he should find annoying or rude, but the way Achilles’ face lit up with genuine pride at his own achievements and skills (and Patroclus’ notice of them) made it very hard to grudge him for it.

They talked about everything they could think of, and slowly Patroclus started to fill in the spaces, where previously there had only been an outline of who Achilles was, in his mind.

Achilles was a music snob, and could rant about the skill and techniques of bands like _Steely Dan_ and _AC/DC_ and _Metallica_ that were being lost to more modern modes of synthetic bass and percussion. He could play guitar and bass and piano, and even had a band in high school that fell apart because they “couldn’t keep up with him”. Achilles promised to play for him some time, and the soft look on his face when he said that was so cruel to Patroclus’ heart, he almost hated him for it.

Achilles was 23, he went to college for a year but found it wasn’t for him, and he never really thrived in school. That’s when he started getting into competitive gaming and streaming. His parents were divorced, and he hadn’t actually met his mom until he was 8 years old.

(“I didn’t find out until way later, and she’s still kind of vague about it, but my mom had postpartum psychosis after having me. They won’t tell me what happened, but apparently she was a danger to me at the time. My dad had a restraining order put in place after that.”

“Oh, that… sucks, man.” Patroclus winced at his own clumsy words, but Achilles didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah. She got treated for it, but I think they were already having problems before that, so it was just exasperated. She contested the order years later and I finally met her.”

“That must have been weird.”

Achilles gave a humorless chuckle, “Oh yeah, very weird at the time. Funnily enough though, I’m way closer to her now than I am my dad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Achilles threw a little figurine from his desk in the air and caught it, repeating the action as he spoke, “He loves me, but is a real laissez faire kinda guy. Didn’t really care what I got up to as long as nothing got broken. I think my mom was just happy to get to know me, so she put in more effort, y’know?”)

Achilles loved sports but hated teamwork, and he ran nearly daily because he was good at it and liked the way it made him feel. He couldn’t eat spicy food, could barely cook and seemed to live off protein bars and sandwiches and take-out. He hated losing any argument, relished in showing off, and didn’t care if his neighbors complained about him kicking the wall after losing a match. His apartment was _atrociously_ messy, he had learned while facetiming as Achilles paced around, and apparently he had a maid that came twice a week. Patroclus prayed for their sanity.

There were also things he didn’t say that Patroclus learned about him. Achilles had to have some part of himself moving at nearly all times, be it a bouncing leg or his hands absently fiddling with something or shifting a bit side to side as he talked animatedly. He was vain, or the very least cared about his appearance, as he would intermittently look at himself on screen and adjust his hair or the angle of his face. A third of the way down his nose there was a little bump that looked to be from an old break. His fingers were long, and he chewed his nails. His eyes were a hazel green that, if you looked at it in the right light, shone gold like a hawk.

Patroclus had hoped that getting to know Achilles would lift the intrigue of mystery around him, and as he saw him in a fuller light, dissipate the steadily growing attraction he felt for the man. But this was worse. Because if anything, all the little ticks and smudges enhanced the realness of him, like a lovingly worn polaroid mounted on the fridge. He wasn’t some idol to be worshiped, or to covet the attention of. He was real. 

And that was why, now, when Achilles teased him, it made him clench his jaw and avoid looking towards his phone. It was childish, he knew, and Achilles wasn’t doing it on purpose or to be mean, but it was cruel all the same. Poisoned hope, sloshing around in his chest.

He silently washed the raw egg from his hands, and when he finally did glance over to Achilles after beginning to beat the eggs with a fork, he could see the concern plain on his face.

“Pat? Everything ok?”

He immediately felt the guilt wash over him at the genuine worry on his face, and schooled his own expression into a more pleasant one.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired.”

It had been like this for a while now, he mused as he began cooking the eggs and mixing in the rice, dousing it in soy sauce. They would video chat or call nearly every day, and just spend the time together. At first Pat had waited for Achilles to reach out, always hesitant to make any move, but after a few days of consistent and enthusiastic communication, Patroclus was finally able to accept that Achilles loved spending time together as much as he did, and he got into the habit of randomly reaching out when the mood hit him. That came with its drawbacks though, namely Achilles’ sense of humor. Always teasing, calling him ‘sweet’ and ‘lovely’, but mixed with seemingly genuine compliments that made Patroclus’ brain hurt to try and decipher the implications of.

He thinks Auto would yell at him if he knew how much spending time with Achilles was both wonderful and hurtful, always reminding him to ‘stick up for himself’, but what would he even say? _Sorry, I’m too gay and can’t take a joke without dying a little inside, please stop calling me sweetheart._

Besides, it was common for streamers to get weirdly homoerotic with their friends as a joke. Nobody and Dio did all the time. 

_He could just be flirting with you,_ a traitorous voice at the back of his mind whispered. That… possibility hadn’t escaped him. His self-esteem wasn’t _that_ abysmal. But, even if he was, would it work out? _Could_ it work out? These were things a braver man than he would consider and take as a challenge.

Patroclus put the finishing touches on his fried rice, cut up some microwaved bacon and threw on a healthy dose of chili flakes. When he took the pan off of the heat, Achilles made an excited noise, like a child that wanted to be picked up, and said “Let me see, let me see!”

Pat laughed, but obliged, picking up his phone and turning it to face the pan. Achilles let out an entirely too impressed “Woahhh”, and when he turned the phone back over to face himself, saw a look of awe on Achilles’ face that contrasted his severe features.

“That looks amazing! You’re so talented, Patroclus.”

This made him snort, then quickly try and cover it up with his hand for a moment. He shook his head fondly, “It’s like, five ingredients and takes ten minutes to make.”

“Still!” Achilles leaned forward a bit to the camera, his ichor gold eyes flashing for a moment in the light. He held his cheek in his hand and sighed much too dramatically for the early hour. “I wish I was there to have some with you.”

Patroclus’ traitorous heart jumped in his throat, and he could feel his eyes soften to mush, “I wish I could make you some, too.”

The silence that hung there was much too tender, much too sweet, it must have choked his brain of oxygen. That is the only explanation for what Pat said next, because as we all know, he was not brave.

“Where do you live?”

* * *

  
  


Three hours away. _Three hours away._

That couldn’t be possible, could it? Things had always come easily to him, but this, this was like divine intervention. This was absurd. This was the _best thing to ever happen to him._

Patroclus only lived three hours away.

They had parted excitedly, Patroclus having to go to work, but both promising to look into plans in the future to meet.

Three hours.

Achilles felt like he was going to jump out of his own skin just sitting there, so he hopped up, quickly changing into some workout clothes he got from Under Armour or Nike or some sponsor he couldn’t bother to remember. He tied up his hair, locked his apartment behind him, and began absentmindedly stretching along the railing of the apartment's staircase.

Three hours. 200 miles from LA to San Luis Obispo. The way his heart was racing he felt like he could run that distance, just run and run and run and keep running until he could see him, then sweep him off his feet and keep running still.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. Achilles turned, seeing a man standing a few steps down the staircase, which Achilles was currently blocking. Achilles raises an eyebrow, “Yes?”

The man narrows his eyes. “Could you move, please?”

Achilles paused, pretending to consider as he leaned onto his outstretched leg, then lowering that and propping up his other. The man gave an exasperated scoff and pushed past him down the stairs while Achilles silently laughed.

Once the man was gone Achilles began his usual route, letting his legs carry him down memorized streets to a nearby park, first at a light jog, then a harder run, as his mind wandered.

Three hours. 200 miles. What were the chances of that? Achilles had silently cheered when their time zones seemed to line up, but that could’ve meant he lived in Washington for all Achilles knew, or _Canada._ Achilles deftly dodged a woman jogging with her dog in the park, exchanging a small nod. But no, not only did Patroclus live in the same state, but only _three hours away._

Achilles wasn’t one to be overly gracious to anything, be it fate or luck or the universe, but as of late he has found himself vehemently thanking whatever evil russian scientist invented the internet.

  
_Deus ex machina,_ he muses, losing himself in the pounding of his own feet against the pavement. _God from a machine, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a funny story relating to why Pat and Achilles live in California. Originally I was planning on keeping it vague so I could just make shit up as I went, but then I realized I had said in the first chapter that Automedon lived in Texas and that his and Pat's time difference was about 2-3 hours, and since Patroclus was a lifeguard he would need to live around the coast. I guess it doesn't matter that much, but I like to be consistent, so you can imagine my delight at finding out California was about 2 hours behind Texas and that a large number of influencers and shit live in LA so BAM!!  
> I will be honest tho I actually live in Texas and have only visited California once, so a lot of the details will be coming from what I can find online or vaguely remember or what my dad could tell me about when he lived there like 30 years ago, so if you're from Cali come hit me up on tumblr so I can ask you for vague details at some point.
> 
> Fun fact, deus ex machina comes from a cliché in ancient greco/roman plays where a god would be lowered on stage by a pully/crane in order to resolve the plot. A god from the machine. (also its a slight poke at me writing them to live near each other)
> 
> Achilles knows what deus ex machina translates to but doesn't know the internet was invented by americans. he's just sexy like that
> 
> Also I am the inventor of breakfast fried rice (probably not but I did think of it on my own >:] ) and it has actually helped me out as a poor college student. Even if you don't wanna actually fry the rice, just a bowl of soft eggs and chopped up bacon over rice with some soy sauce can and has cured my depression for like 20 minutes at a time
> 
> every time you leave a comment in my head i do a big bow like a maestro at the end of a concert


	5. Bullet Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A type of shoot 'em up where the player must generally dodge an overwhelmingly large number of enemies and their projectiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for drinking throughout this chapter as well as a brief mention of transphobia. If you need a summary of what happens, please let me know in the comments. The mention of transphobia is between the first and second line break, and the drinking takes place after the 3rd horizontal line break.

“I don’t see _why_ you need to stay in a hotel. Just stay at my place!”

“Don’t you only have a one bedroom apartment?”

_“Well…”_

“I know what you’re thinking, and _no,_ Achilles.”

“Aww, c’mon! It’ll be like a sleepover!”

“As much fun as that sounds, I really would like my own space to unwind after driving all that way.”

“Oh, _alright..._ I’m going to miss you, though.”

“... I’m going to miss you too. Just one more week to go.”

A heavy sigh. _“Just_ one week. Ugh. You and your precious _job..._ I can’t wait to see what you look like.”

“Hm? You’ve seen me plenty before.”

“Yeah, but it’s always a little bit different in person. I remember first meeting Ulysses, he’s _way_ shorter than you would expect.”

“Who’s Ulysses?”

“Oh, right, uhh do you know Nobody?”

“Ah, I see. Didn’t know he released his name, seemed like a very private guy.”

“Um.”

_“...What?”_

“Sooo, if you could just keep that to yourself…”

“Oh my god, did you almost dox Nobody?!”

“It just slipped out! Besides I couldn’t dox him if I wanted to, I don’t think anybody knows where he lives. Or even his last name.”

“Thank god for that. I don’t watch him that often but the stuff he gets up to is kinda scary. Wouldn’t want to cross the guy.”

“Don’t worry about him. He has the whole _We Are Anonymous_ vibe going on, but he just likes fucking with scam call companies. And occasionally exposing major corporate conspiracies. But that's only happened, like, twice.”

“...You have some weird friends, Achilles.”

“‘Friends’ is a bit of a stretch.”

“Oh, come off it. I know you like to act like a pillar of stoic wrath or whatever, but you’ve got to have _some_ friends.”

“Well. You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

“... I’d sure like to think so.”

“Then there you go.”

“As sickeningly sweet as that is, you can’t tell me I’m your _only_ friend, Achilles.”

“Ughgh, _fine._ I guess Dio and Ajax are my friends. _Technically.”_

“What about Ulyss- uh, Nobody?”

“He’s more like a weird uncle that comes and goes. Or a stray cat.”

A laugh. “You are such an ass.”

“It’s a pretty nice ass though.”

“That has yet to be seen, my friend.”

“Wait, hold on-”

“What? Achilles- I didn’t mean right _now!_ Oh my god, _stop.”_

“I can’t let you keep living your life thinking I have a mediocre ass, Patroclus! I can’t stand that shame!”

“Oh, sounds like Bri’s here. Sorry buddy, you’re gonna have to live with it a little longer.”

* * *

“Clip goes viral when emerging streamer **@Pat_ovOpus** sobs on camera due to 100$ donation from tournament champion **@aKILLeus**!”

**@the-rsites** you have the audacity to call yourself a ‘hard-hitting social media journalist’ and then post sensationalist bullshit like this (1/6)

he wasn’t crying because I donated, he was crying because a little girl nearly drowned while he was on duty as a lifeguard (2/6)

a little girl he SAVED btw. but of course you only show the clip of the donation out of context overlaid with royalty free piano music (3/6)

because despite how many pay-to-win mobile games you advertise or downright creepy and transphobic comparison pictures you posted of Helen throughout her transition (4/6)

EVEN AFTER SHE ASKED YOU MULTIPLE TIMES TO STOP you are still nothing but a pathetic shill who lacks the talent to even lie properly (5/6)

if I ever find you skulking around Twitchcon or PAX this year I’m going to knock your ugly fucking teeth in. (6/6)

* * *

  
  


“Achilles, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not? He’s a liar, everyone knows it.”

“That's _why_ you shouldn’t have said anything! There’s no point.”

“Of course there's a point! He was _lying_ about you, Pat. I couldn’t let him get away with saying shit like that.”

“Yeah, but now _I_ have to deal with the backlash of you _threatening him_ because of me, as well as all the attention you brought to this guy just by saying anything!”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh’.”

“...”

“...”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

A breath sucked through his teeth. “It’s alright, I know you were trying to defend me. And he deserves to be knocked down a peg. Just… think it through a little next time, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And… Could you, um… Could you maybe stop calling me ‘sweetheart’?”

“...Oh.”

“It’s just, ah, not really funny anymore, y’know?” A weak chuckle.

“Yeah… Yeah, no, I get it.”

“I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s alright Pat.”

A pause. “... Do you want to play a game, or something? You haven’t tried _Splatoon_ yet, right?”

“Actually- I need to go do something. I’ll see you later.”

“Oh- uh, okay. Bye, Achilles.”

* * *

“Oh! Hey, man. Were we supposed to do something today?” Diomedes is _pretty sure_ they hadn’t planned anything, mostly because Achilles’ usual response to Dio asking if he wanted to collab was ‘Fuck no, I would never stoop down to the level of your caustic swill, you peasant.’ Not those _exact_ words, but the tone usually carried the meaning across.

Achilles was here though, standing at Dio’s front door, his usually immaculate mullet (“It’s a mohawk!”) a bit disheveled and windswept.

“I wanted to drink but drinking alone is for losers and I don’t want to get arrested so I can’t go to a bar. Move.” Achilles slipped past Diomedes. For such a big guy he could hide behind a lamppost by turning sideways. God knows how, with what he eats.

Dio closed the door (fairly desensitized to this kind of shit with the friends he keeps) following as Achilles marched up his house’s ornate staircase _“Ooookay-_ wait, why would you get arrested? Aren’t you like, 23?”

Achilles didn’t pause until he reached the upstairs lounge room, crouching behind the lavishly stocked mini-bar. “Property damage and assault tend to be frowned upon in public.”

“Yeah- wait, you’re not planning on breaking my shit, are you Achilles?”

Achilles popped up from behind the bar, vodka in hand, and without breaking eye contact, drank directly from the bottle until it was 2/3rds of the way full. He lowered it, face screwed up, eyes slightly teary as he resisted the urge to cough. “Maybe.”

 _“Oh come on-_ I have smirnoff and heineken and shit in the fridge, don’t just down my good vodka!” Dio stepped forward and yanked the bottle out of Achilles’ hand, which he let go surprisingly easily. “Besides, I thought you hated drinking.”

“I do- dear god that's like gasoline- _eugh.”_ Achilles face was still screwed up, smacking his mouth and rolling out his tongue like a disgusted cat.

“Get some water you big baby,” Dio screwed the vodka shut and replaced it in the cabinet. Achilles, surprisingly, complied, and started pouring himself a glass from the sink. “Geez, it’s not like you to get this pouty, even after losing a match or a run time. What, did you get dumped or something?”

Achilles avoided his eye, drinking the water.

“Wait-” Dio shot up from his crouch behind the bar “Wait wait wait- no fucking way!”

He lowered the glass, glaring at Dio.

 _“Holy shit-_ really?!”

A muscle in Achilles’ jaw jumped from how hard he was clenching his teeth, and Dio worried that he’d throw the glass at his head. After a tense moment though, Achilles slammed the glass down on the counter (luckily just spilling a few drops and not cracking it) before palming his face in his hands and groaning wordlessly at the ceiling.

“I didn’t even know you were _dating_ anyone let alone-” Dio gasped, leaning forward with his elbows on the bar _“Oh my god is it that cam-boy?!”_

“HE’S NOT A CAM-BOY!” He threw his hands out from his face, before gripping his hair tightly in each fist, “And we weren’t even dating or anything! I just thought- ARGH!” Achilles’ upper body crumbled, face down on the bar with his elbows around his ears and his hands above his head. Oh, this was serious.

“Hoo-boy, okay, I am not emotionally mature enough for this. I gotta call for backup.” Achilles grumbled something into the granite but Dio didn’t pay him any mind as he scrolled through his contacts, mentally sorting out who was in town and could handle a heartbroken drunk juggernaut. Oh! Perfect.

* * *

About forty-five minutes later Achilles was sitting on the floor in front of one of Dio’s fancy leather couches, leaning on the cushions and nursing a beer, intermittently making faces at the taste. Dio was sitting across from him on a loveseat, far behind drinking wise but at least trying to catch up in solidarity. There was a knock at the door, and Dio shouted “It’s open!” After a few moments, a man (seemingly in his late 30’s) with shoulder length brown hair climbed up the stairs.

“UGH!” Achilles took one look at him and flopped his head back on the couch, “Not fucking Menelaus, _why.”_

Menelaus laughed good naturedly, “Good evening to you too, Achilles.” Dio offered him a beer and Menelaus took it, sitting next to Achilles on the couch. He looked around the room at a quick glance, furrowing his brows. “Wait, aren’t you 19, Diomedes? Why do you have a bar?”

“Ehhh, it came with the house!” Dio waved his free hand around a bit, “Unimportant! I think Achilles needs an adult.”

 _“Shut up.”_ Achilles was slurring his words, although only slightly. He glanced over at Menelaus, opening his mouth, then pausing for a moment. “You grew a mustache.”

Menelaus raised his eyebrows, nodding a bit, “I did.”

Achilles narrowed his eyes. “It looks good.” He said this like it offended him.

Menelaus made quick eye contact over with Dio, who just shrugged and shook his head hopelessly. “Well… Thank you, Achilles.”

The blond just grunted in response, taking a sip then grimacing at his beer.

“Soo... “ Menelaus opened his beer, taking a cursory pull. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Achilles leant his head back again, hair splaying over the cushions. On a much too somber sigh, he said, “You sound like my step-dad.”

“You have a step-dad?”

“You sound like _a_ step-dad.”

“I mean… I _am_ a dad.”

“Yeah but you sound specifically step-dad-ish. It’s all in the inability to connect emotionally.”

_“Achilles,”_ Dio finally spoke up, sliding down his chair a bit in exasperation, “Would you _please_ tell us what is going on with you so I can do something other than pity drink with you all day?”

Achilles didn’t respond, resting his head against the couch and closing his eyes. Dio made a move to get up, but Menelaus stopped him with a wave of his hand, watching Achilles.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke without lifting his head. “I think my soulmate is straight.”

Dio and Menelaus shared another glance in the silence that followed that statement, and simultaneously drained their beers. Menelaus nodded resolutely to himself, setting the now empty bottle near his feet, “Alright, Achilles, let's break this down. First off, who are we talking about?”

“Patroclus.”

“And that is…?”

Achilles flopped one hand around in the air, eyes still closed, as listed “Streamer, lifeguard, perfect human being, etcetera.”

“Okay. How long have you known him?”

“Uhm,” His eyebrows screwed up a bit at this “We’ve been talking for a few weeks… Maybe a month? A month now, I think.”

“Alright, and why do you think he’s straight?”

 _“Because,”_ And, oh no, he was starting to sound choked up. Achilles opened his eyes and gave Menelaus an absolutely pitiful look, “He won’t let me call him sweetheart anymore.”

Menelaus’ dad instincts couldn’t take this. He leaned over and dragged Achilles up by the armpits so he was actually sitting on the couch, before pulling him into a tight hug. He was _much_ taller than Menelaus, and also quite uncoordinated at the moment, so he had to fold over awkwardly to fit in his arms. Achilles let out a little surprised mumble, arms limp at his sides, while Menelaus rubbed a broad hand up and down his back, whispering “Hey, hey, It’s alright buddy. It’s gonna be okay.”

Slowly, Achilles raised his arms to return the hug, and Menelaus shifted from rubbing his back to rocking him side to side.

“Y’know, he might be gay and just not be into you.” Diomedes helpfully suggested.

“If it were not for this amazing hug I’m in right now,” Achilles mumbled into the older mans shoulder, “I would slaughter you.”

Menelaus chuckled at this. He held Achilles for another minute or so, alternating between rubbing his back and rocking him gently side to side until Achilles slowly pulled back, sniffling a bit but no longer close to tears. “We never speak of this.”

“Calm down, lover-boy,” Menelaus gave one last pat to his shoulder before sitting back, “We’re all friends here.”

“Yeah, and could you be a bit more specific? What do you mean he won't let you call him sweetheart?”

Achilles shot Dio another glare, still a little offended he would even suggest someone who wasn’t straight wouldn’t be into him, but indulged him anyway. He wasn’t the best storyteller, and had to keep jumping back and forth to give context (and kept going off on lovesick tangents), but eventually as he was explaining he said something that caught both of the other men's attention.

“Wait, wait-”

“He said that ‘It wasn’t funny anymore’? You’re sure that's what he said?”

“Uhm, yeah I think so.” He glanced at them as they shared another look, “Why?”

Menelaus laid a hand on Achilles’ shoulder, “Listen, relationships are complicated, especially ones where you’re not sure where you stand. What you have with Patroclus I think is especially complicated because of how you two connected, am I right?”

Achilles gave a wary nod.

“Right. I don’t know Patroclus personally, but from what you’ve told me he sounds to be a kind man, if a bit self-conscious. Am I on the right track so far?”

He nodded again.

Menelaus nodded back. “Okay. I’m just speaking from personal experience, but oftentimes sensitive people like Patroclus and I have a hard time believing praise, _especially_ if it’s a lot of praise or it comes from someone we care about.”

“That… Makes no sense.”

Menelaus chuckles again, removing his hand. “No, no it does not. But, think of it from his point of view. You start out a fan of his work, showering him in compliments and donations, then you connect personally and actually become friends, but still maintain that sort of fan-creator dynamic. He might not be sure where you two stand in the relationship because he’s not sure where Achilles the friend ends and Achilles the fan begins.”

Achilles leaned forward a bit, propping his arm up on his leg and resting his head on his fist, much like Auguste Rodin’s _The Thinker._ He hummed a bit to himself. “Maybe…”

“Plus,” Dio piped up from where he had thrown his legs over the arms of the loveseat, “He might just think you’re kidding around. Ulysses and I joke like that all the time.”

“Ohhh,” Achilles sat up again, staring at the middle distance. _“That_ would explain some things.”

Dio whooped and threw his arms in the air “Finally! Goddamn I thought you were gonna mope here forever.”

But Achilles still looked distressed. “So what am I supposed to do now? Just, not compliment him? How can I make him believe me? I really…” Achilles started picking at his nails, “I really want this to work out. He’s amazing.”

“Well,” Menelaus leaned over to grab another beer “You said he’s coming over to LA to meet you soon, right?”

Achilles nodded. “Yeah, in a week.”

He pointed the lip of his bottle towards him, “Shoot your shot, kid.”

“But, I mean, what if he really isn't interested…? What if I ruin our friendship? What-”

Menelaus suddenly leaned forward, pulling Achilles close with a hand where his neck met his back, making him feel like he was in high school football all over again. He met Achilles’ eyes with the hardest look he had ever seen on the usually passive man. _“Achilles._ Is Patroclus your soulmate?”

Achilles could only nod.

Menelaus shook him slightly where he held him, _“Then shoot. Your fucking. Shot.”_

Achilles stared at him for a moment longer before jumping up to his feet and making way for the door. Diomedes yelled after him, “Hey you didn’t drive here right?!”

“I ran!” He slammed the door behind him.

The two men stared after Achilles for a moment. Dio broke the silence. “Holy shit dude you’re good at that.”

“Thank you.”

“I should buy you a car!”

“Please do not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make a tiny amount of angst, I immediately try to resolve it in the same chapter. This is my design.
> 
> Is the dialog at the beginning confusing to read or no? It's just Achilles and Pat alternating but I can't really tell reading it back if it makes sense. Lemme know and I might come back later and edit it so they're more distinct, like maybe I'll center Pats dialog on the left.
> 
> Also I was not planning on having so much Menelaus dad content in this chapter but it just kinda happened. Idk what he's like in other stories but the vibe I picked up from the Iliad was 'tired man who really doesn't know what he's doing here just wants his goddamn wife back'. Also he liked Patroclus, so you know he had good taste.
> 
> Also the whole 'sweetheart' think was inspired by troilus and cressida where Achilles would call him 'Sweet Patroclus'


	6. Third Partying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When two teams or players are in a fight and a third team or player attempts to kill one or both of the teams.

“Go back to playing Minecraft and cheating on your wife.”

With that he exited the lobby as well as the discord call, before Agamemnon could say anything other than an offended squawk. He had only agreed to play with him on Agamemnon’s stream because he was the party organizer for an upcoming League tournament, but any good will earned by playing _Call Of Duty_ with him was probably lost now. Doesn’t really matter. He’d win anyway.

Achilles was already in a sour mood due to having to miss one of Patroclus’ streams _again,_ last time due to his own stream schedule, and now to dick around with some influencer who’s made more apology videos on his kitchen floor than should really be considered acceptable. Patroclus has been acting cagey too, a bit more quiet in their daily calls, like he was when they first started talking. Fuck. Achilles really hoped he wasn’t reconsidering meeting. He sounded excited when they would talk about it, but there was always that little undercurrent of hesitance in Pat’s voice. Should he ask if he really wanted to meet? Was he unintentionally pressuring him? But what if asking if he wanted to meet made him think Achilles secretly _didn’t_ want to meet and-

Ugh. _Three more days._

Achilles tossed his controller to the side, leaning back a bit on his chair. What Menelaus had told him was still weighing on his mind. Has been since he sprinted home and immediately vomited in the bushes outside his apartment because sprinting and vodka were not good combinations. I mean, he knew somewhat what he was talking about, Patroclus would often discuss things like anxiety and self-esteem with his viewers, and after a spike in subscribers or followers, say that he doesn’t know why the hell they’re sticking around. But, the actual reality that Patroclus might not understand Achilles’ affections as genuine or that he might not actually… _Like_ himself still boggled his mind.

A chime of a discord message broke Achilles from his musing, and he cursed to himself for forgetting to turn Do Not Disturb back on. He checked it, fully expecting a capslocked paragraph from Agamemnon, but was surprised to see a dm from Ulysses of all people.

_So. I heard you found your ‘soul-mate’._

_dio is a dead man_

_Yes yes, violence and bloodshed for the old gods and the new._

_I’m being serious right now Achilles. I’m worried for you._

_hey that rhymed_

_You found this man a few months ago and immediately became besotted, and now you’re going to meet after only speaking for a month and a half, in your home city no less?_

_wtf does besotted mean_

_Achilles._

_OMFG im not some 13 year old finding someone i met on club penguin we literally talk every day_

_Do you even know his last name?_

_..._

**_Achilles._ **

_its Megalêtor_

_You had to ask him didn’t you_

_ITS NOT LIKE I KNOW YOUR LAST NAME_

_And I am a dangerous man._

_your sooo right stranger danger i should block you on all social media starting here_

_Wait._

_Just, please be careful. He might be the man you’ve been talking to, and it might be a wonderful thing. Or it might not be._

_I’d hate to see you get caught up in something bad._

_if you werent such a condescending douche about it i might be flattered at your concern_

_I care about you Achilles._

_no_

_You’re my friend._

_STOP_

_ <3 _

_IM BLOCKING YOU_

_disgusting_

  
  


_wait actually_

_you have a wife right_

_What._

_Who told you that?_

_uhhhh you did??_

_Oh. Right._

_Why?_

_... how do you plan a date_

* * *

“Hey, Pattie. Em late to her shift again?” Patroclus startled a bit from where he was leaning, arms crossed over the empty windowpane of his lifeguard post. Briseis lightly punched his arm, still in her bright red one-piece and her kinky hair still damp from the ocean. “Damn man, you didn’t hear me go up those hundred year old steps? You’re not getting heat-stroke again, are you?”

Pat huffed a bit in lieu of laughter, pulling Bri into a brief side hug then simply keeping his arm around her shoulders and staring out into the ocean. “Don’t worry, the lecture I got from Chiron will haunt me for the rest of my days. That man can fit so much disappointment in his eyebrows alone. I was just thinking. Hey,” Pat glanced over at her past his sunglasses, “Are you gonna work this season too?”

“Yup,” Bri popped the p, leaning a bit into his loose embrace despite the heat and saltwater on her skin, “Tuitions a _bitch._ And there will be a spot open for you too if you just _ask.”_

“Mmm,” His mouth screwed up in a pout “The younger kids need the money more. Plus you know I hate the cold.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Oh yeah, how’s your other job going, and the whole-” Bri waved her hand around vaguely “Sugar daddy guy.”

Pat folded over in embarrassment, dragging her along with his arm still around her shoulder. “I _really_ wish you would stop calling him that.”

“Dude pays a hundred bucks to watch you drink water and play Minecraft, I don’t know what else to call it.”

“Okay, first of all I haven’t played Minecraft in _years,_ that shit got too complicated for me, and second-” He paused, hand raised “Okay I don’t really have a second point, just stop calling him that. He’s- well. He’s my friend.”

She narrowed his eyes at him, and he quickly looked back out at the sparse beach. Bri is much too observant, gotta act natural, or else she’s going to put her hands on her hips and get that tone in her voice and say-

_“Pat,”_ Fuck. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He winced, taking his arm off her shoulders, reaching into his fanny pack and busying his hands with reapplying some sunscreen on his face. Even with his skin tone melanoma was no joke. “Sooo,” He took off his sunglasses to let the sunscreen dry, meeting Bri’s gaze with an apologetic grimace “Don’t get mad, but… I’m gonna meet him.”

She looks like he just kicked her dog.

“... In two days.”

… With _cleats._

_“Patroclus!”_

_“I’m sorry!”_ God, he hated that tone, “It’s just- I knew how you were going to react and I’ve already been psyching myself out and-”

“Dude!” Bri threw out her arms, accidentally (or maybe on purpose, she was a little pissed) slapping Patroclus’ chest “You’re gonna go meet a guy you met online who’s _obsessed_ with you in _two days_ and you didn’t bother to tell me until now?!”

He lifted his hands to defend himself from her flailing limbs (and words), “He’s not- okay he’s a little enthusiastic, but he’s just a passionate guy!” He folded his arms, huffing a bit defensively “You make him sound like a creep or something.”

She gave him a hard look, hands now poised on her hips, eyes fiery and dark. “You are my best friend Patroclus,” Her gaze softened, and Pat could see the twinge of hurt on her face despite her hard voice, “We’re supposed to tell each other everything.”

With that all the fight in him left his bones, and he pulled Bri into a tight hug. “You’re right, You’re right,” He mumbled into her hair, “I’m sorry.”

Bri squeezed him back twice as hard in revenge, and he wheezed a bit as she picked him up an inch off the ground for a moment. “Oof, jesus Bri, I think you popped my spine.”

“And _you-”_ Bri sounded slightly strained as well “Need to stop sitting around so much. I think you’re getting love handles.”

Pat playfully gasped, the little jab at his appearance from anyone else would’ve burned like a hot poker. “My _best friend_ is body-shaming me, here, in the sacred temple of lord Chiron. Besides,” He pulled away from the hug, lightly hip-checking Bri “We both know my love-handles are well established.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bri walked back over to the window, leaning against it with her back to the beach. Pat joined her, leaning once again on his arms towards the ocean. “You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

He sighed airily “I know.”

“Are you into him?”

“... Yeah.”

“Is he into you?”

“I’m not… I don’t know. Maybe.”

Bri hummed. They stood there for a minute, letting the breeze lift their hair, and listening to the chatter of gulls overhead.

She broke the silence, voice like murmuring waves. “You’ve always had pretty shit taste in men.”

Patroclus felt the need to defend Achilles well up hotly in his chest, but let it go with a breath through his lips. “... Yeah.”

“You’d get with these boys, and then you’d let them become your whole world. It was really painful, y’know. Watching you disappear like that.” she glanced over at him, but he kept his eyes on the waves. “You’ve grown up, but I just worry someone's gonna swallow you whole again.”

Patroclus considered this as the tide broke against the sand, again and again. She was right, of course. When he was younger by not that much but hated himself in strides more, he’d let anyone who made him feel just a little bit good pull his heart out of his chest and eat it raw. He’d lose himself in thin, shiny love, and when that ran out or he became ‘too much’, spend weeks having to convince himself just to get out of bed despite that old nasty voice telling him he should just rot into the mattress and be done with it.

He turned his head, finally meeting Briseis’ open gaze.

“When I’m with him, I don’t feel like I’m disappearing.”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel like I'm growing. I feel like I’m more of myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shorter than usual chapter, but I felt like these were important conversations to be had and a chapter break between the next scenes were necessary. Also I just wanted to end on that line because I'm very proud of it.
> 
> I've been waiting to use “Go back to playing Minecraft and cheating on your wife” that has been in my notes app for a week
> 
> I thought about spacing Ulysses and Achilles' chat like I did for Pat in the twitter dm's but it looks real weird on my laptop. If you think it'd look better on mobile lemme know.
> 
> And don't worry my dears, I hear you. We will get there very soon.
> 
> Also it was SUCH TORTURE to write Achilles using the incorrect form of 'your' and 'you're' I only did it like twice but that shit hurt


	7. Bottomless Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hazard common in platform and action games, which consists of a deep hole or void with no visible bottom, presumably leading to a fatal drop.

Patroclus stepped out of the hotel shower, vigorously drying his hair with an off-white towel. The hotel wasn’t the best, so the shampoo he used smelled more like handsoap than the coconut promised on the bottle, and the towel felt more like a bath mat than anything else, but he honestly couldn’t feel it over the sound of his own heart beating in his ears and the nearly constant tingle under his skin.

It had taken a _lot_ of convincing for Achilles to not just come over immediately when he arrived at his hotel around midnight, but he promised to wait until the next morning to come pick him up, being unusually coy about what it was they were going to do all day. Pat was somewhat nervous Achilles had something crazy planned like sky-diving or a live cooking class, but he trusted the man to know him well enough to understand that he would hate jumping out of a plane and/or being talked down to while trying to make samosas or whatever.

He finished drying himself off, stepping into the outfit Bri had carefully helped him plan out so he looked nice (but not too nice) and that he had made an effort but not _too_ big of an effort as to be weird about meeting his online friend for the first time and having a (Probably. Maybe.) platonic outing with him. Yeah.

He let out a shaky sigh that sounded closer to a barely contained scream and dragged his hand through his hair. Patroclus made eye-contact with himself in the still foggy mirror. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the sink and talking to himself like a junior league varsity coach.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. We are _not_ going to be weird about this and read into it, we are going to be a good friend to Achilles and have some _fun_ together, goddamnit.” He jabbed his finger into the mirror's face “Don’t get so into your own head it ruins the day, alright? Your gay panic can wait.” He nodded to himself. “Alright. Break!” That's something coaches say, right? He pushed away from the mirror.

After sending a quick text to Achilles letting him know he was ready and that he could head over now, Patroclus decided to wait in the lobby. He was less likely to freak out where other people could see and judge him for it.

The walk down the hallway and into the elevator is hard to describe, as he could only really perceive the swoop in his gut and his own racing thoughts that went along the lines of _o_ _k, ok, ok, don’t be weird, no expectations, low hopes have gotten you this far in life wow that sounds depressing- dear lord is that what I look like why do elevators have mirrors in them, just so God can spite us?_

He stepped off the elevator and into the sparse lobby. The hotel was about 20 minutes out of LA, so he could just mess around on his phone in one of the lounge chairs until he gets here. Although, now that he’s looking at it, the chair seems awfully spider-y in his opinion. His legs feel like gelatin, but maybe standing is better-

  
  


_“Patroclus!”_

  
  


Several things happen in the breath of that moment.

The man in question whips his gaze from the floral print (and possibly spider filled) arm chairs to the opposite side of the lobby, and meets the golden-green eyes of Achilles. Achilles looks almost superimposed into the world for how he contrasts against the cheap hotel floor, all gold and light that bends around and into him like a star. His blood runs cold, then hot, and he can feel his face scorch in his radiance. Being the center of that focus without the buffer of a screen makes him feel like his bones will be sunburnt under the scrutiny.

Patroclus opens his mouth, and is able to utter a single syllable of his name, before Achilles takes off like an olympic sprinter. The “A-” on Patroclus’ tongue quickly turns into a quiet _“oh shit-”_ as the god-like boy quite nearly tackles him to the floor. Patroclus’ feet skid along the carpet at a near diagonal angle, but through sheer force of will (and his powerful thighs) he is able to stand upright with Achilles in his arms.

Achilles, for his part, despite having reached his goal, still pushes impossibly forward, arms wrapped vice tight around Pat’s shoulders, as if trying to meld them chest to chest. Patroclus isn’t sure, then, whose frantic heart he feels beating against his ribs.

Achilles turns his head into Partroclus’ neck, and he has to resist a shiver at the feeling of a cold nose under his ear. He whispers like a child telling a secret, lips just barely brushing his cheek. “Hi, Patroclus.”

And he hates him, hates him, _hates him_ for that. For saying his name like that when he was trying so hard not to fall in love with him.

It hurts, god, it hurts.

He held Achilles tighter, squeezing him like a stick in a soon-to-be amputee's mouth. “Hi, Achilles.”

The star-born man in his arms lets out a tiny gasp, and squeezes impossibly tighter, _tighter,_ for just a few moments more. Then, slowly as the dead, he pulls back.

Patroclus met those eyes again, and his smile burned to look at. Achilles breathed like his sprint from one side of the lobby to the other was the distance of a football field. Patroclus was no better.

“Hi, Patroclus.” Achilles couldn’t stop smiling.

“Hi, Achilles.” And it caught to Pats’ face like wildfire.

They just stood there a moment, eyes roving each other.

“You’re…” Achilles stopped.

Patroclus was still panting. “What?”

“You’re so... small.”

He blinked, and suddenly realized he still had his arms around Achilles’ waist. He pulled back jerkily, and Achilles’ arms floated for a moment where they were resting on his shoulders before dropping like lead weights back to his sides. They burned.

Patroclus let out a strained laugh, “I’m not- I’m. _Average,_ you’re-” He flapped his hand around oddly, taking a moment to absorb Achilles appearance and then very much wishing he hadn’t. Because. Fuck.

Achilles was… Tall. At least a head above Patroclus (although he wasn’t lying, Pat really wasn’t short per se), wiry and lanky where Patorclus was stouter and thicker. His shoulders were wide, waist trim and definition in his arms and legs from a runners life. Patroclus thought the cut of his jaw and his cheekbones and the gold in his eyelashes and his mane of hair were stupefying on video. In person it was like seeing some great and terrible thing. A tiger in the grass, or a whale in open ocean. Something so beautiful you didn’t care that it was going to be your end.

Achilles raised an eyebrow, still grinning like the fool he was. “‘I’m’?”

Shit, that's right, he was saying something. “... Freakishly gangly.”

This just made him grin harder, all canine and dimples that cut into his face. “You wanna get out of here?”

Oh. Right. The world existed. “Let’s go.”

* * *

  
  


“I changed my mind.”

“Oh, come on-”

“When you said you’d drive us, I did not agree to _this.”_

The _this_ in question was the black and gold detailed motorcycle Achilles was currently straddling in the hotel parking lot. And for a moment Pat let himself forget what a crazy bastard Achilles was. Big mistake.

 _“Patroclus,”_ Stop it, stop saying my name like that. Achilles held out one helmet, the other under his arm. “Trust me.”

Fuck.

He took the helmet, and Achilles whooped before sliding on his own. Patroclus swung his leg over the seat behind Achilles, his internal mantra of _don’t make it weird_ _don’t make it weird_ _don’t make it weird_ suddenly broken by the growl of the machine underneath him. It was actually quieter than he thought it would be, but the vibrations up his legs felt like it would eventually wear his bones into sand.

Pat had to raise his voice over the engine “Uhh, are there side-bars or something?”

Achilles looked over his shoulder with hawk-bright eyes. “Just hold onto me!”

_I hate you, I hate you, I hate you._

He tries to wrap his arms as loosely as possible around Achilles’ waist, but as soon as they’ve backed out of the lot, he suddenly accelerates and Pat feels his stomach float into his ribs with a small yelp. Before he can stop himself, his arms are wrapped tightly around Achilles’ torso, and they go flying down the road.

Once they finally reach their destination, Patroclus is almost sure his bones are gravel now, or maybe gelatin. Gelatin was made from bones right? He remembers reading that somewhere. Or was that glue? His brain might be a bit bruised from the vibrations.

He reluctantly peeled himself from Achilles’ back, nearly tripping over his own wobbly legs onto the sidewalk. He takes off his helmet, setting it on the motorcycle, but before he can glance around or fix his undoubtedly mussed hair, Achilles’ hands close over his eyes.

“What-”

“It’s a surprise! Trust me.”

Stop saying that, please, please. _You don’t know what it's doing to me._

Achilles led him down the sidewalk with ease, chest pressed to his back, the cruel man. They luckily didn’t go too far, for as much as Patroclus trusted him, he was really starting to worry about how stupid he looked being led around blind. The hands were gone now, and he missed the closeness immediately. _Pathetic._

He blinked open his eyes, and gasped, one hand flying to cover his mouth, the other over his heart.

“What- oh my god I didn’t even- _Achilles!”_

The star-incarnate just smiled. Not the cutting toothy smile from before, but something soft and fond. “Surprise.”

“This is _real?”_

“Mhm.” Achilles nodded delightedly.

“Can we- can we go _inside?”_

“We have a reservation.”

Patroclus hated him so much, hated his stupid fucking perfect guts, the motherfucker, the _bastard._ How dare he, how fucking dare he take Patroclus to a _dog cafe_ and then expect him not to fall in love. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck!_

Patroclus rushed over to the door of _Puppuccino,_ Achilles following close behind.

* * *

  
  


Achilles was in love.

“Oh my god, look!” Patroclus’ lap was currently filled with a little squirming puppy, its too-big paws on his chest as it licked his nose, “His name is _Poncho!”_

Achilles leaned his head in his hand, and admired the pure joy on his face. Patroclus’ tea and muffin would grow cold at this rate, but so would Achilles’, so what does it matter. A larger dog loped over to Patroclus, laying its broad head on his leg, and undoubtedly staining his pants with drool. Patorclus just squealed delightedly, rubbing the hounds head as he tried to keep the excitable puppy from licking his mouth. Soon, he was surrounded by a veritable pack of puppies, sniffling his shoes and begging to be picked up. He looked so happy he could faint.

“Are you having fun?” Achilles knew he was, but he wanted to hear that he did a good job. Sue him.

“This is-” The puppy jumped, trying to nip his nose “-The best day of my _life.”_

“Best day of your life so far.” _Because I’m going to marry the fuck out of you._

Patroclus paused his puppy mauling with a bewildered look, “Did you just quote _The Simpsons?”_

“What? No.”

“I think you did.”

“No, shut up.”

Patroclus sputtered with laughter, then froze. “Oh, shit- I’m sorry, this is an hourly thing right?”

Achilles picked his head off of his hand. “It’s okay, I paid for three hours.”

His eyes positively melted. He hugged the puppy to his chest with a whispered _“Thank you.”_

They spent most of their time petting the dogs and eventually working their way around to actually enjoying their breakfast. As their time was coming to a close, Patroclus with a sleeping puppy in his lap he was having a small crisis about moving, Achilles quietly laughing at him, a barista came around to pick up their cups and plates. She smiled courteously at them, glancing over at Patroclus, and with a conspiratorial grin said “I assume the date is going well?”

Achilles’ heart stopped for a moment, then restarted a thousand times over. He could feel the blush on his ears, but before he could shout out _yes! Yes it’s going amazing I’m in love!_ Patroclus’ face crumbled.

“Oh- ah,” His cheeks flushed, voice tinny and strange, eyes wide and panicked, shooting a glance at Achilles before darting away, “We’re- uhm, not on a date.”

  
  
  


Oh.

  
  
  


He was dimly aware of the barista profusely apologizing, and Patroclus assuring her that it was ok, really. When she was gone, he shifted in his seat awkwardly, waking up the puppy. It jumped off his lap and wandered away.

He was aware of these things, but just stared at Patroclus.

Patroclus didn’t meet his eyes.

“Ha. Funny, huh?”

He remembered how to speak after a moment. “Yeah.”

“Uhm…” His hands fiddled with the table cloth, and he bit his lip. “Our times almost up right? Do you wanna go?”

Achilles blinked. He schooled his expression into a smile that hurt on his face, “Yeah. Lets go.”

He has never been so thankful to have a motorcycle until now. Earlier he was ecstatic he had an excuse to feel Patroclus’ thick arms around his waist again, but now he was so very thankful it was near impossible to talk over the rushing wind around them. He had no idea what he’d even say.

He just… He looked so _panicked_ at the very idea. He thought… Achilles just _thought…_

Well. He thought wrong.

Achilles wanted to hit something, wanted to scream, wanted to tear his goddamn heart out so it would _stop fucking hurting so much._

But... he promised Patroclus a day out. And god dammit he’s going to get one. It is going to be _fucking magical,_ so someday when Achilles is old and decrepit and horribly alone, he can look back on this and feel some spark of vindictive joy in his heart as a final fuck you to the gods of unrequited love. _I still made him smile, motherfucker. What now?!_ And then he can die grinning.

  
Patroclus squeezed his arms tighter around his chest, and Achilles felt his heart fly from his ribs and be crushed beneath the wheels. _That is, if he doesn’t kill me first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:]


	8. Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A point in a game from which the player cannot return to previous areas.

He knew it was wrong. He knew it was inappropriate and creepy and overall just a dick thing to do to your friend, but Patroclus couldn’t help himself as he wrapped his arms around Achilles’ torso tighter than need be. His heart ached and his lip was probably bleeding from where he picked at it with his teeth, but he allowed himself this one, tiny sin as they rode to wherever Achilles had planned next.

And if he thought about how it felt to hold Achilles around the waist, warmth bleeding from where their thighs touched as the wind whipped around them, later tonight when he was alone, well… He already hates himself, what's one more thing?

Achilles drives them deeper into the heart of Los Angeles, weaving past cars in maneuvers Pat is  _ almost _ certain are illegal, but honestly doesn’t know and is still feeling too off kilter from the incident at the dog café to try and say anything.

That… That was terrifying.

Because if some random woman could see how hopelessly he adored Achilles, how long would it take for  _ him _ to see it. And his  _ face _ after that happened, it was like a stone mask fell over the usually bright and sharp glow that was Achilles, reducing him to the alabaster statue Patroclus would often compare him to in the privacy of his mind. Achilles was honest, and loud, and easy to read, and so,  _ so _ passionate. This quiet was unnerving.

Patroclus didn’t notice they had come to a stop until Achilles had killed the engine. They parked in a space along the road, deep in the city and surrounded by dizzyingly reflective buildings. They dismounted (Patroclus a bit more coordinated this time) and started making their way down the street.

Pat tried to break the quiet between them, nudging Achilles with his shoulder. “Hey, no blindfold this time?”

Achilles smiled with no teeth. “Streets too busy. Besides the walk is a few blocks, I can’t imagine we could get parking anywhere else.”

“Ah.” He was disappointed.  _ Weak. _

Achilles led him to an art museum of all places. Patroclus didn’t try to hide his surprise at this, which for a moment, blissfully broke Achilles’ stone visage into a pout at the slight. “I’m  _ cultured.” _ The building was vast and winding, and oh so murmuringly quiet. It helped alleviate some of the tension in their silence, but Patroclus couldn’t think farther than  _ I fucked it up I fucked it up _ as they wandered through the various rooms.

For as much as Achilles took offence to Pat implying he wouldn’t enjoy a museum, he seemed awfully disinterested at the oblong sculptures and variously ornate colored glass that’s supposed to look like gods face or something. Pat only skimmed the plaque.

They meandered their way into a hall dedicated to older pieces, 1700 to 1600 and even some 1500’s paintings. The silence grew louder and louder in them, and it tore at his bones.  _ You fucked it up, and now he won’t even look at you. _

Then he saw something and froze, string caught around his heart.

In front of Patroclus was a portrait of a 16th century man, stout with a white frilled collar and black robes, wide brimmed hat and dark eyes. He saw no familiarity in the visage, but the strokes of paint and the detail in the light of his eyes sent a needle of painful, beautiful memory down his skull and into his throat.

Achilles walked up to him, shoulder to shoulder. He spoke for the first time in what felt like years, but he was looking at the painting. “Are you okay?”

The string around his heart  _ tugged. _

“This looks like something my mom would paint.”

At this Achilles, finally, looks at him. His gaze burns, but without it Patroclus felt like he would freeze to death.  _ It was hell either way. _

“Your mom paints?” His voice filled every room it was in, even when he whispered.

“Yeah. She did.”

He turned his head ever so slightly, and the marble began to soften into golden flesh again. “What did she paint?”

“Bugs, flowers, skylines, animals. Me.”

At this, a smile on Achilles’ face began to grow, and slightly but surely exposed a single canine. Patroclus couldn’t stop talking, he had to finish whatever spell was bringing his Achilles back. “She loved to paint me. She would go through them like baby photos, showing off palm-sized canvases to 3-foot tall ones. Sometimes she’d have me dress up so she could sketch it, or she wouldn’t be painting me at all but still use me as a reference. She said that’s what the renaissance painters did with their apprentices.”

Achilles’ smile grew until it showed his teeth and his dimples cut into his face.  _ There, _ he thought,  _ there he is. I missed you. _

“Do you have any?”

Patroclus could feel his own smile dim, but there was no point in hiding it. “No. My dad has them all, and…” He broke from his gaze. “I can’t get them. It’s complicated.”

Achilles was quiet again, and for the life of him Patroclus couldn’t help but berate himself for over-sharing. Before he could spiral too far however, Achilles leaned forward, pressing their arms together and ducking his head down to whisper conspiratorially into Pat's ear.

“We could go steal them.”

Pat sputtered out a confused half-chuckle, meeting his eyes again “What?”

“Yeah! Like an art heist. We can break into your dad's place and grab the paintings and run before the cops find us. Where does he live?”

At this Patroclus fully laughs, quickly trying to silence himself as he can hear it echo back in the quiet space. “You’re not serious?” He searched Achilles’ gaze, “Oh my god you’re serious. No!” He pushed back on his shoulder, delighted.

“Why not!” Achilles sounded like he thought he was being ridiculous, but his sharp smile ruined the illusion.

“Several reasons!”  _ Major one being I don’t- and can’t- know where he lives. _

“You’re no fun.” Achilles settled an arm around his shoulders, almost immediately freezing and shooting Patroclus a blank look.  _ Oh, that hurt. _ He was a touchy guy, if the hug when they saw each other said anything, but maybe he was worried Patroclus would read too much into this.  _ Don’t fuck it up. _

Patroclus leaned into his side, and it burned. “Where to next?”

* * *

They spent the day like that, navigating around the museum and talking in hushed tones about anything and everything at all. Pat learned that Achilles wasn’t a big fan of modern art because he liked the drama and skill of classical stuff, especially baroque paintings. Patroclus could so clearly see him in that, with stark shadows and an intense gaze. Achilles looked like he was born to be painted. It made him doubly heartsick that he hadn’t followed his mothers footsteps.

Patroclus told Achilles about how he always got emotional looking at thousand year old pottery, thinking about the people that used to hold it.

Before either of them realized it they had nearly spent the entire day there, both debating the merits of purposefully absurdist art in postmodernism and giggling at the tiny penises in classical paintings (causing them to get some dirty looks, which Achilles doubly returned). Despite what happened at the cafe and the occasional flashes of blankness that would come over Achilles’ face when Patroclus would stand too close or smile too brightly (which hurt like a stab to the chest), Patroclus still stood by his earlier statement. This has been one of the best days of his life.

Achilles nudged him from where he was examining an ancient draughts board. “Ready for one more stop?”

“Sure thing, I think we’ve seen everything.”

“And you’re not too tired right?”

So thoughtful. So sweet. The bastard. “Not yet! I’m a lifeguard, remember. I've got nothing if not endurance.”

Achilles got that little blank look again, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard him wheeze  _ “Endurance.”  _ under his breath before turning away. Patroclus followed.

* * *

Either Achilles was an idiot or unfathomably cruel, and Patroclus didn’t know which was worse, because the last stop was a picnic on a cliff near the sea.

Patroclus has no idea how he found this spot, for all logical reasonings it should be littered with horny teenagers or drunk tourists, but apparently Achilles is perfect at everything he does including  _ real estate hunting _ because they are blissfully alone.

Horribly, terribly alone.

It seems that Achilles has realized some aspect is not very platonic, because the stone in his face has come back.  _ Fuck. _ He helps Achilles unpack the food he picked up from a nearby deli, and they settle on a flannel blanket on the grass. As the sun dips to the horizon, it catches the sea to fire.

A picnic  _ at sunset. _ Achilles really was a moron.

Or… Maybe-

Achilles shoved a sandwich and a bottle of water in his face, which Patroclus took with quiet laughter, and a “Thank you”.

They didn’t say much as they ate, mostly because they really  _ were  _ hungry and tired from walking around the museum all day. Patroclus wasn’t lying about his physical endurance, but mentally he was pretty worn out from all the emotional ups and downs and just being out. He didn’t want the day to end though.

But of course, as all things do, the day ended. And Patroclus got to watch it with one of his favorite people in the world.

They sat side by side, watching the sun extinguish itself. When the star was nothing but the barest slivers, Achilles spoke. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

His eyes were hawk-bright, and they hurt to look at, like they were the sun they reflected. “We can still have breakfast tomorrow, before I go.”

Achilles nodded, just barely. Patroclus continued, “I don’t want to go either.”

“You have to come back soon.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” He bumped their shoulders together, “Pool lifeguarding is usually a pretty lazy gig. Infuriating, but easy.”

“Right, ‘no running’ and all that.”

“And so much of children playing looks and sounds like they’re being murdered.”

“Why don’t you work the beaches over the winter?”

“Mm…” Patroclus looked over the waves again. “I don’t like the cold.”

Achilles was silent for a few moments. He inched forward, so they were shoulder to shoulder. Patroclus shot him a bemused glance. Achilles’ ears were red. “So you’re not cold.”

“Oh… Thank you.” It was barely autumn. And they were in California.

“Mhm.”

They watched the ocean together, and even as the sun disappeared, its light still bounced around the sky. Funny, that.

“I’m going to miss you.” Patroclus surprised himself when he spoke.

Achilles met his eyes again. “Don’t miss me yet. I’m right here.”

There was something in the way he said that. Maybe not the words and maybe not the meaning, but the way he said it. It sounded like a promise, and it felt like Achilles had reached into his chest, and, instead of pulling out his heart, gently stroked it with a finger as you would a baby bird. Being around Achilles must be making him a poet.

Achilles glanced down his face, eyes lidded, and Patroclus belatedly noticed they had gotten closer. When had that happened? But just as Achilles’ shadow fell over his face, and Patroclus’ throat burned and his mind sung with a chorus of  _ oh my god oh my god is this real is he going to-  _ he pulled away. The wind tugged at his hair, and it waved like a death flag.

He looked anywhere but Patroclus. Patroclus felt cold.

“We should get going, I’m sure you’re tired. I don’t know how this place is at night, might be dangerous, and the streetlamps are far in-between, so my one headlight is. Not, uh, safe.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Achilles was rambling. Patroclus was still frozen in his half lean towards the man, and had to take a few seconds to blink and pick the shards of his heart from his feet.

“Okay.” He croaks.

  
  


The ride back to the hotel is much like the ride to the museum, but the words unspoken here feel different. And this time, Patroclus can think in sentences composed of words other than Fuck.

What was that? Was that what he thought it was? Patroclus knew his anxiety made a habit of turning the world into its ugliest shades, but was he that big of an idiot to miss those signs? Is he insane?

His poisonous heart and the old toothy voice of his mind fight back at every step of the way, but the more he thinks about it, clutching Achilles’ middle and feeling just the barest heartbeat through his hands… The evidence begins to add up.

The pet names, the places he took him, the hug, and the- well he wasn’t sure what that was just now, but it certainly felt like a near kiss to him. Should they- do they talk about it? What would they even say? What if he pulled back because he really didn’t want to kiss him, it was just a mistake in the heat of the moment- 

No. Patroclus is hit with shining clarity. Achilles doesn’t do that. He’s passionate, and maybe a little foolhardy sometimes, but if there’s one thing Patroclus knows about Achilles, it’s that he doesn’t do things unless he wants to. The brat.

His ribs were a corset around his heart, and his mind raced. The possibility was there, it was  _ right there, _ but then why wouldn’t Achilles take it? Was he… Was he scared?

They slowed to a stop outside of the hotel.  _ Shit! When did we get here?! _

They dismounted. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

_ STOP BEING A GENTLEMEN I’M HAVING A CRISIS. _ “Sure.”

The walk to the lobby elevator felt like death row, as Patroclus knew if he didn’t do something, say  _ something _ his cowardice would seize his heart forever. He could feel it approaching. But it wasn’t here yet.  _ Sometimes, you have to outrun it. _

They waited for the elevator.

“Hey Achilles?” Patroclus felt the string around his heart grow tighter, tighter,  _ tighter. _

“Mhm?” He hurt to look at. He was so bright. But maybe he was scared too.

“Could you lean down for a second?” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, and he could swear his heart was going to pop. Achilles leaned down, a half confused smile on his lips.

Maybe Patroclus had to be the brave one this time. For him.

He cradled the worlds face in his hands, thumbs under each starry eye. And for a liminal moment, he felt brave.

Patroclus leaned forward and melded their lips together.

It was only for a moment, two, three, but he could feel the prickle of it from his bones to his scalp, burning his face. He wondered if his hair was standing up.

They parted. Achilles’ eyes were open. Patroclus searched his face.

  
  


Nothing.

Nothing at all.

A moment. Two. Three.

Patroclus slowly removed his hands, but Achilles didn’t move.

  
  
  


Oh.

  
  
  


The elevator opened. His heart popped.

Patroclus felt like he was in a nightmare, with how his bones felt heavy despite every nerve telling him to run. Achilles hasn’t even  _ blinked _ yet, just staring. He turns, _ quick quick quick GO, _ and flees into the elevator. He presses the close door button.

Just before the doors shut, Achilles finally blinks, whipping around to the doors  _ “Patro-” _ they crush his words.

His chest feels hollow and full of saltwater at the same time.  _ Not yet,  _ he is just barely able to think,  _ don’t break yet. They have cameras in here. _

He goes down the hallway. He gets to his door. He goes inside.

_ Okay, _ he thinks, and lets himself break.

His back hits his door, and he curls slowly downward. He can be pathetic now, it was okay. Tears slip down his face, and he lets them. It was okay. It was allowed now. Everything was ruined. He could cry about it.

At first, he thinks he hears the pounding of his own heart in his ears, but as it grows steadily louder and he feels the floor vibrate under his hands he realizes it was the sound of someone running down the hallway.

_ Fucking rude. Some people are trying to die inside. _

The pounding of feet fly a few paces past his door, then skit to a halt.

  
  


Several things happen in the breath of that moment.

  
  


The feet pound again, this time stopping right outside of his door. Then, an explosion of knocking comes from it, and Patroclus is really starting to get pissed now because  _ come the fuck on I’m trying to have a panic attack here! _ And it really startled him where his head was resting against the door.

He gets up, ready to yell at whatever dumbass kid thought it’d be funny to run around and knock on peoples doors. He swung it open.

Something tackles him to the floor.

A curtain of gold falls over his face, and all he can see is Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, as he straddled him, peppering kisses over his tear stained face with every other word “You- Motherfucker!- Asshole!- Bastard!”

“Wha-” Achilles shut him up with a fierce kiss on the lips. He could feel his teeth pressing against him uncomfortably from the force, and it kinda squished his nose, but it was really hard to comprehend more than three things at once at the moment.

Achilles gripped Patroclus’ head in his hands behind his ears, much less gently than Patroclus had earlier. He pulled back to breathe, but couldn’t seem to slow for a moment. “I had to pay the clerk  _ a hundred bucks _ to find your room after you  _ ran away _ so  _ I-” _ He kissed him again, pulling him forward and turning his head to the side for a better angle. He pulled at Pat’s bottom lip with his teeth (making him  _ whine) _ before moving a breaths distance away _. _ His eyes were only a slip of green around the pupil  _ “Am getting my money's worth.” _

Patroclus found his voice “That's-  _ really _ hot, but, ah-” Achilles was nuzzling his neck now, peppering little kisses along his jaw, and Pat was having a  _ really _ hard time thinking of how words happen “But I’d like to not do this on a shitty hotel floor, and we- should probably… Talk?”  _ Dear god  _ Patroclus didn’t want to talk, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Achilles hummed consideringly, seemingly content to rub his cheek along his stubbly jaw like a cat. “I guess.” He stood gracefully from his crouch, and Patroclus got a pretty nice worms-eye view from where he was still a puddle on the floor. That man is all legs. Achilles smirked, and lent him a hand, pulling him up and nearly off the ground, before he started crowding Patroclus towards the bed, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Patroclus instinctively held his hips, and walked backwards with him. They stopped, right where the back of Pats thighs hit the mattress.

He swallowed thickly. “You… Like me?” Patroclus winced. God, he sounded like he was ten.

“So much.” Achilles leaned down, foreheads touching, and his nose pressed into his. They breathed the same air. 

“What, uhm,” Achilles kissed the corner of his mouth, and Pat’s eyes fluttered close, “What do you want- us to… be?”

Achilles pulled away, slowly as the dead, and Patroclus opened his eyes again. One hand raised from his shoulders to cup his cheek, drawing slow circles with his thumb. “I know what I am already,”

He leaned in, breath against his lips, “I’m  _ yours.” _

Patroclus felt like he wanted to cry again. “God that’s so fucking cheesy.”

Achilles smirked, the bastard, the motherfucker, and leaned down again, this time to Pat’s ear. He kissed it, eliciting a small shiver from the shorter man. Achilles whispered, and it filled the room.

“I’m going to suck your dick so hard you forget your own  _ name.” _ He pushed Patroclus onto the bed.

Everything was a competition with that man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is far from the end, but hell yeah we got here lads.  
> I have never written sexy things and I don't think I'm going to in this fic, but honestly I don't really plan that much so who the hell knows. More likely I'll make some spin off fic for those scenes if I write them.  
> I'm thinking about updating the summary to maybe be an actual summary? Not sure on that. Will definitely have to update the tags but I really don't know how to describe this thing. Fluff? Humor? Bit of angst? Patroclus therapy time?


	9. PVP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Refers to competing against other players, as opposed to player versus environment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how I said in last chapters notes that I probably wouldn't be writing any nsfw in this fic? Yeah... The tags have been updated. We're in it now lads.
> 
> I'll put an extra long space between line-breaks in case anyone wants to skip that and go straight to the fluff at the end.

_FUCK YOU MENELAUS_

_Why???_

  
  


He doesn’t get a response, or even a read receipt, until late the next day.

  
  


_nvm you are forgiven_

_Forgiven for what??_

_Achilles?_

* * *

Achilles isn’t sure if he succeeded in his mission statement, but he certainly seems to have reduced Pats vocabulary to consist of only _Oh dear god,_ and _Fuck,_ and _Achilles._

He likes that last one the best.

He dips his head again, hands braced against Pat’s muscular thighs, nose just barely brushing the coarse hair that leads up and up Patroclus’ torso as he swallows his cock. Patroclus moans something low and strangled, and he can feel his legs tense under his hands, but he just barely twitches his hips and rises with his shoulders before falling back onto the bed with a whine.

What a sweetheart.

Achilles lifts back up, licking a long stripe as he went, and watches delightedly as Patroclus’ hands twist and writhe in the scratchy hotel sheets, eyes screwed shut. In his enthusiasm Achilles had only swept off Pat’s pants and underwear before getting to work, but is now starting to regret the oversight of missing out on watching his bare chest heave. Well, no time like the present.

Achilles makes one last circuit down Pat’s length, relishing the strangled hiss this evoked, before rising from his half-crouch over the bed and looming over Patroclus, arms on either side of his head, whose eyes slowly flutter open.

Achilles couldn’t help himself. He cocks his head “Hi there. What’s your name?”

Patroclus let out a snort, still out of breath. He slaps Achilles’ shoulder “Oh fuck you.”

Achilles pressed closer still, “If you don’t I think I might die.”

Pat gasps, flushing impossibly darker and squeezing his eyes shut like he can’t take even the idea of it. Achilles rocks his hips in his lap, clothed ass against his dick, which might be a bit uncomfortable now that he considers it, but still makes Pat look like he was about to die in the best way.

“Uhm, I-” Patroclus choked as Achilles rocked again, and Achilles took that momentary distraction to whip Pat’s shirt and jacket off his body with only a bit of a fuss “I didn’t- bring anything for that…”

It takes Achilles a few moments to hear and understand his words, as at the time, he was too busy trying to process the fact that Patroclus was _way hotter than he expected like holy shit._ He knew Pat was probably muscular due to his job, but the broadness of his chest and arms as well as the softness of his belly was the perfect balance of definition and bulk and oh dear god he has _some curly chest hair and tan lines ahhh._

But then Achilles processes the words, and after doing some very quick mental calculations about the kind of hotel this was, groaned at the ceiling and collapsed on top of Patroclus in despair.

Pat huffed a bit in surprise, but started softly laughing, stroking Achilles’ hair as he hid his face in Pats shoulder.

“Why does god like to torture me?!”

This just made him laugh harder. Asshole.

Achilles picked up his head, resting his chin on Patroclus’ chest, and gave him his most pitiful look. Patroclus’ dark, dark eyes softened, and he craned his neck down awkwardly to press a sweet kiss to his lips, which Achilles eagerly returned.

He settled back, untangling one of his hands from the bedsheets to run it up and down Achilles’ spine and under his shirt. He speaks softly, but the roughness in his voice gets to Achilles anyway, “We can do something else, if you want.”

“Mmm,” Achilles crawled a bit on his elbows in order to reach Pat’s face, kissing him chastely once, twice, before kissing his cheek with a wet smack. This makes Patroclus smile and sigh contentedly, and Achilles cannot stop himself from pressing his face, cheek to cheek, with him like they were dancing, melting back into his arms. Achilles cants his hips a bit against Patroclus’ thigh. “I want to make you feel good.” He murmurs.

Achilles can feel Patroclus’ tiny gasp against his ear. “That won’t be too hard.”

“Ha, _hard.”_

“Alright- _thats it.”_

Patroclus flips Achilles over by his shoulders _like he was nothing,_ pressing him into the bed with a dark look for a moment, before pausing and leaning back on his knees. Before Achilles could say what he wanted to, something along the lines of _no no no no please come back_ Patroclus laughs nervously.

“Uhm, would you mind taking off some clothes? If you want? I feel kinda…” He gestures to his naked self.

“You’re _so smart.”_ Achilles nearly bucks Pat off from his perch on his hips with how quickly he sits up and tears off his shirt. Patroclus really does have to get up to let Achilles take off his pants (which he begins to reach over to help with, but belatedly realizes with how frantically Achilles was going he would be no help at all) and soon they are both bare and alone together in a very ugly hotel.

They pause for a moment, staring at each other, taking in the others body, as well as the unreality of the moment. Patroclus’ eyes dart from Achilles’ shoulders to his chest to his legs to his half-hard cock to his face again. He looks stunned.

Achilles held out his arms, and Patroclus blinked, before inching over on his knees, a bit awkwardly. Achilles pulled him into an embrace, and they wrapped their arms around each other, just feeling.

Achilles rested his head on top of Patroclus’, and he felt Pat blow a bit of his hair from where it hung over his face.

“I’m… _I’m really fucking nervous.”_

Achilles hummed, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head, before leaning back so he could look at him. Achilles followed the length of Patroclus’ arm with a hand until he could tangle their fingers together. He pressed their joined hands to his own chest. His heart knocked against them.

“Do you want to keep going?”

Patroclus looked up at him with his dark, dark eyes, huffing and ducking his head. “I really do.”

 _“Oh thank god.”_ Achilles sagged in relief and Patroclus swatted him on the shoulder again, laughing.

  
  


It took a bit of awkward maneuvering to get back into the pace they were before, still unsure of the others body and what they liked, but eventually Achilles was able to pull Patroclus on top of him like they were before, bare hips pressed together and nearly chest to chest, save for where Pat held himself up on his arms.

For a while they just kissed each other, exploring the seams of their lips with tongues and teeth while restless hands roamed over arms and shoulders and backs and into manes of hair. One of Patroclus’ hands eventually found their way to Achilles’ chest, rolling a nipple with his thumb and swallowing the whine from Achilles’ mouth. They broke the kiss as Patroclus began palming Achilles’ chest in earnest, nipping along his jaw and throat as Achilles pushed his hips up to meet Patroclus’, small rhythmic ‘ah’s falling from his mouth as he panted.

“Ah- Pat, can you- harder?”

Patroclus jerkily nodded, reaching down to take them both in hand while rolling his hips at a steady pace. It would probably be better with some real lube and not just spit and precome (Achilles had offered to use the hotel lotion, but it was some cheap overly perfumed kind Patroclus didn’t trust anywhere near his dick) but the feeling of Patroclus leaning over him, half laying on top of him, chests heaving together and just feeling him all around made it that much more intense.

Achilles lifted one of his arms from where it was draped over Patroclus back, cupping his neck and pulling him so their foreheads nearly rested on one another. Achilles' voice was strained and needy “I can’t wait until you’re inside me.”

Patroclus’ strokes stutterd, letting out a groan that broke his concentrated silence. Achilles dragged his hand from his neck into his thick curls, gripping a bit as Patroclus tried to regain his rhythm.

 _“Just like this,_ you pressing me into the bed- “ Achilles swatted his hand from their cocks, wrapping his legs around Patroclus’ hips and grinding them together as Patroclus choked on a moan “Starting so gentle and sweet, _my sweetheart-”_ He kissed Patroclus sloppily, who he could tell was trying so hard to keep his pace steady but the tremble in his arms and his breath gave him away.

“But- Ah!” Achilles’ dirty monologue was broken as Patroclus suddenly sped up his thrusts, knocking the headboard against the wall obnoxiously, but, as is known, Achilles cares little for the comfort of his neighbors.

It’s hard for Achilles to do anything other than pant obscenities into Patroclus’ mouth, but he is able to lift his eyes to search Pat's face. Their eyes meet, and Achilles sees a dark hunger that shoots up his spine, joining the coiling star forming in his gut. Patroclus leans down to tug at his ear with his teeth, and Achilles lets out a peaky whine. “You were- saying?” He punctuates this with a thrust that grinds his hips into the mattress.

Achilles is reduced to puffs of strangled breath, wrapping both arms around Patroclus’ broad shoulders. His entire body coils, heels digging into Pat’s back, and with a cry that sounds like it's trying to be Patroclus’ name, but doesn’t know how, Achilles came undone.

Patroclus shudders against him at the sound, and isn’t able to do anything but roll his hips a few more times before he joins him, fingers digging into the sheets and a rumbling moan in his chest.

They lay like that for a minute, panting into each other's ears. Achilles slowly unwinds his legs from Patroclus’ hips, and Pat laughs faintly at the feeling of their skin trying to stick together as he rolled onto his back next to Achilles. “Eugh, gross.”

“I’m-” Achilles was having a hard time talking without panting _“Offended.”_

“You’re right,” He was also offended at how he sounded less out of breath, although his voice was just as rough, “I should be honored to be graced with your sweat and spunk. Apologies.”

“Don’t call it that,” He flopped on arm over to slap his chest, “That's gross!”

“‘A rose by any other name-’”

 _“Patroclus!”_ Achilles kicked one foot against the bed from where he was laying, although it was more of a vague upwards movement, with how loose his limbs felt “You're making our first time awfully unromantic!”

Patroclus looked helplessly charmed at this (and not remorseful, the prick) and rolled over to his side, tracing a gentle hand along Achilles’ brow. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, tell me, what is the most romantic word for jizz? Gamete?” Patroclus wiggled his eyebrows “ _Baby-batter?”_

_“Never say that to me again!”_

He had no idea sex made Patroclus sassy, but he was so fucking happy he got to learn.

* * *

  
  
  


Achilles’ thigh was pressed against his where they sat in the diners booth, Patroclus nibbling on some toast while Achilles ate an obscene amount of scrambled eggs. That shouldn’t be as endearing as it feels. That, and the spare T-shirt Pat let him borrow, which Achilles hadn’t mentioned giving back and Patroclus certainly wasn’t going to remind him. It was honestly kind of short on the taller man (although not tight), but no one was complaining about that.

Achilles, possibly noticing Patroclus staring, pauses at decimating his breakfast to drape his arm across Pat's shoulders, head resting on top of his, and leans heavily into him, like a large dog when you pet it just right. A lesser man would be bowled over by his weight.

Patroclus tries really hard not to be too charmed, then remembers that he doesn’t need to do that anymore, and melts into it, wrapping an arm around Achilles’ hip. “I’m going to miss you.”

Achilles wraps his other arm around Patroclus’ chest, squeezing him. He mumbles into his curls “Stay.”

Patroclus held the arm around his chest with his unoccupied hand. “I can’t.”

“... I know.”

They hold each other, and Patroclus wonders if he would be embarrassed to be swaddled like this in public if Achilles wasn’t here. Probably.

He hears something faintly, and isn’t sure what it was for a moment. Then when he hears it again, he startles to lean back and look up at Achilles because it sounded like-

Achilles sniffles. His face was splotchy and pink, and the green of his eyes stood stark against the tears in them.

“Oh, no, no-” Patroclus took Achilles’ face in his hands and wiped the tears as they fell. Achilles held his wrists in each hand, but didn’t bother to try and hide. He was brave like that.

“I don’t know-” He choked on the words, and Patroclus’ heart broke “I don’t know how I can go back now that I have you.”

Seeing Achilles face crumble like that, his poor voice, Patroclus started to tear up too. He pulled Achilles close again, nestling his head into the crook of Pat’s shoulder with a gentle hand on his head, stroking his long beautiful hair. Achilles folds into him, and clutches the back of his shirt.

“Oh Achilles. I know, baby, I know.”

A man walks by their table and gives them an odd once over, and Patroclus surprises himself with how quickly he shoots a glare from over Achilles’ head, baring his teeth a little. The man walks by a little faster.

Patroclus vaguely wonders where the hell that came from, but is much more concerned with the nearly 200 pounds of crying boyfriend in his arms.

_Boyfriend._ Oh shit that's right they need to have that conversation. Later.

Patroclus rubs Achilles’ back and strokes his hair and squeezes the life out of him until the nearly silent hitches of breath slow to intermittent sniffles. He doesn’t pull back though, and simply rests the side of his head against Pat's shoulder.

“We moved pretty quickly, I think.” Patroclus winces at his own phrasing, too blunt in the face of an obviously emotional Achilles, but Achilles just nods against his shoulder. Patroclus takes a breath. He could be brave for him too.

“I- I really want this to work. And-” he felt a spike of fear at the determination, at the hope. He was all too used to trying to be ok without it “And I think it can. I think _we_ can.” He took a lock of Achilles hair, twisting it against his fingers. “It’s gonna be hard, I think, but… I really want to try.”

Achilles slowly lifted his head from Pat’s shoulder. His eyes were still red and a bit puffy, but he met Patroclus’ hesitant determination a hundred fold over. “You’re not getting rid of me.” He said it like a threat.

And for a moment, just a moment, Patroclus felt guilty for it. For fooling this man into caring about him. For making him cry. It was only a moment though, because those kinds of thoughts burned under the sun.

His smile was wobbly, but true. “I’m glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody make eye-contact with me.
> 
> Ok but seriously I've never written sex before and I am still kinda iffy on how it sounds even after editing it a bunch. I was vague as hell but it was still pretty hard to write. Fun, but difficult.
> 
> We shall return to our regularly scheduled gamer bullshit shortly.


	10. Alpha Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An initial, incomplete version of a game.

Briseis had been texting him throughout his trip, which was both very endearing as well as annoying. He knew it was just her way of trying to take care of him, and honestly, Pat couldn’t blame her.

And so, despite him really really not wanting to hear her judge him, he calls her after as soon as he gets home. She picks up after a few rings.

“Not dead!” He’s alone but he throws a hand out like a carnival barker anyway. He’s an entertainer. Technically.

“Not dead! So, not a catfisher or a serial killer?”

“If he is either of those things, it’s a long con.” He throws his backpack to the back of his closet and flops on his bed. Sitting for hours is exhausting.

“Mm. So, what happened?”

Okay. How to word this so he doesn’t sound insane.

“Sooo, turns out the whole thing was a date, but I didn’t realize it was a date and I think he thought I didn’t want it to be a date so he didn’t say anything and then he almost kissed me but didn’t so then  _ I  _ kissed  _ him _ and then ran into my hotel room and started to have a panic attack.”

“Uhhh-”

“And then he ran after me and kissed me and we had sex.”

Bri was silent for a long time, but Patroclus knew she was making that face. She would narrow her eyes and furrow her brows and just slightly open her mouth. It was the patented Bri face of disappointment and slight disgust. He knew it well.

A deep breath in through her nose.

_ “Patroclus.” _

“I know!” He has utterly failed at sanity, might as well go all the way. This shit was weighing on him too. “I know, I fucked it all up, it’s just. We hit it off so well, and he was so  _ tall, _ and he took me to  _ a dog café,  _ Bri, I didn’t even know that was a thing!”

“You said this wasn’t just another hook-up, Pat!”

_ “It wasn’t!  _ I mean… I don’t think…  _ Damnit.” _ Patroclus scrubbed a hand down his face, hissing a bit between his teeth.

“Damn man, you just can’t keep it in your pants, can you?” He knew she was joking, but it still sent a jagged spike in the back of his heart. She seemed to realize this. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” He gave a little self-deprecating chuckle, “I am kind of easy.”

“No, no, Pat… I’m sorry. I know that's a sensitive spot for you, it was shitty of me to joke about it.”

He opened his mouth to deny it further, say something like  _ it’s my own fault for not being able to take a joke, _ but instead says “Thank you.” Because even if you don’t believe it at first, you have to accept what people give. Or something like that.

“So… Do you have a boyfriend now?”

His silence is telling.

“That's it- I’m getting wine for this.” He could hear her get up and begin rummaging around.

“I don’t…  _ Not _ have a boyfriend.”

“You had sex the first time you met him, but you couldn’t ask if what you have is exclusive?”

She was right. She was  _ right _ but it still stung.

“I just- don’t want to ask for too much, you know?”

He heard glass clink against a counter. “Oh, honey.”

Bri was quiet, and he could hear the murmuring of her feet moving around the kitchen. This was a rhythm of theirs, as they were both ones to have to untangle their thoughts and follow the line until they made sense. It was a silence that breathed.

“You said it felt different with him, right? Is that still true?”

Patroclus thinks he knows the answer to that, but takes a moment to close his eyes and really consider it anyway. Did Achilles feel different than his past relationships? The pattern was quite similar if he was being honest. The quick attraction, the quick sex. But what didn’t follow was the actual  _ care _ in it, the mutual adoration and intimacy. And, for as much as it bit at him to believe it, Achilles wasn’t a liar, and he said  _ I’m yours. _ It makes him a little bitter, to think about the life Achilles must have lived in order to not fear the repercussions of sincerity.

“It is.”

“Then don’t make the same mistakes as before.”

“Easier said than done.”

“That it is.” He could hear her settle into her couch. “I expect updates, and I better meet him soon.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Patroclus flapped his hand around in the air “Thank you, relationship counselor Bri- Oh!” He sat up at a sudden thought. “I’m sorry, I’ve been caught up in my own drama, I forgot to ask- how's ‘group going?”

“It’s going well! Cassandra has been such a big help getting this all organized, and it’s been great practice for Agatha. It was a little awkward at first, you know how it is, but I think we have a really good thing going.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

Briseis scoffed. For as much as she loved to lecture him on emotional honesty, she couldn’t take too much sincerity at once or her skin crawled. “Shut up.”

“I love you so much! You’re my best friend in the world!”

“Euugh, stop it!”

Patroclus laughed, then startled a bit as his phone vibrated against his ear. He took a quick glance. “Oh, Achilles texted me.”

“Alright, I’ll let you go, lover boy.”

“We can keep talking if you want, he can wait.”

“Nahh, I need to make dinner anyways. Plus, Agatha is looking like she’s going to need a walk soon.”

“Alright, talk to you later. I love you, Bri.”

“...I love you too.”

* * *

Turns out, Patroclus didn’t have to stress about starting the boyfriend conversation.

_ your my boyfriend right??? _

_...Yes? _

_ I mean _

_ I’d like to be _

_ OH OK COOL YES _

_ srry diomedes said i had to actually ask when i told him _

_ You told Diomedes? _

_ yeah he was being annoying about it _

_ Did you tell anyone else? _

_ no _

_ … should i not have told him?? _

_ I just don’t want to be public about it yet _

_ I’m sorry _

_ o ok _

_ i get it dont say sorry _

_ can i show you off to my friends?? _

_ If you want to _

_ i really do _

_ Hey you admitted you have friends _

_ im breaking up with you _

_ hahaha _

_ This is so weird _

_ it is? _

_ I’m sorry I don’t mean like it’s bad _

_ It’s just kind of jarring? _

_ We just met in person yesterday and we’re already dating _

_ oh _

_ honestly i dont have a frame of reference _

_ never really dated anyone before _

_ Really? _

_ ive been with people before but not very seriously _

_ or idk _

_ its weird _

_ I would have thought you’d be stupidly popular _

_ i mean yeah _

_ but _

_ i think they were expecting something else yknow _

_ or someone else _

_ idk _

_ Well. I’m really happy I got you _

_ :) so am i  _

_ i get that it was fast but. im excited to get to know you _

_ even more _

_ So am I _

  
  


* * *

Despite the sort of rushed start to their relationship, it got on easier than Patroclus would have thought. Achilles’ schedule had gotten busier unfortunately, as tournament season was coming up and he had to spend more time practicing with his team as well as solo, so finding a time that worked for both of them to meet again was a struggle. Achilles had tried to explain how the tournaments worked to Pat once, but it sounded too much like actual sports and just kind of slid out the back of his skull.

But, they had a visit planned soon, Achilles coming to his apartment this time. That wouldn’t be for a little while though, so for now they fell back into their usual routine, although with exceptionally more endearments.

There was one aspect of this that was beginning to really bug Patroclus, though.

“Guys, I’m not calling my channel points  _ PatBucks, _ what even is that.” His chat was especially rowdy tonight, he kind of felt like a teacher coming back after a lazy substitute. “You’re already on thin ice with the PatChamp emote, those privileges can be taken at any time.”

He hated that emote. It was the only one with his actual face on it, not just a drawing, and it still kind of made him cringe to see it. It was made by a fan, though, so Patroclus couldn’t just  _ not _ use it.

He saw a few more awful suggestions, things like PP (Pat points), PatCoins, Patroclus Denarius, and _Daddy's Money._ He kinda liked the denarius one, but didn’t want to use his name in it, and the last one. Just. No.

“Oh, I like these two. Okay,” Patroclus quickly typed up a poll on stream and set the deadline for a minute. Between  _ Allowance _ and  _ Lunch Money,  _ the first won by a thin margin.

He had finally set up an automatic text-to-speech for donations, so the message this time came with a vaguely British computerized voice alongside it.

**_aKILLeus_ ** **Donated 50$!**

_ idk man i like daddys money ;) _

Patroclus flushed, but laughed it off, continuing the stream as normal and bouncing between a few of his usual games at the viewers request. As the night progressed however, and as Achilles continued to donate at his usually wildly exuberant pace, that little pressure at the bottom of Pat's throat began to build until it was a hot stone. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but like an old pair of shoes you haven’t worn in years, it fit in all the wrong ways. Only after he had ended the stream and asked Achilles if they could talk did he realize what it was.

It took a few moments for the call to connect, as well as the webcam. Achilles was in his usual tank top and jacket, illuminated by colorful little strip lights he lined along his desk. The short sides of his hair were starting to grow out. He’d need to get it cut again soon. He smiled that little sharp toothed grin he had. “Hi babe!”

The hot stone in Patroclus’ throat dropped to his chest. Achilles liked to call him ‘babe’ because he knew it embarrassed and annoyed him a bit, but now that playful poke just added to the steadily growing anger in him. He hated being angry. He took a breath, but that only stoked the embers.

“Achilles.”

He doesn’t know what face he was making, but Achilles caught on to his mood nearly instantly, smile dimming and cocking his head. The little stone burned, but it scorched himself the most.  _ Suck it up. Don’t say anything. Don’t ruin it. _

No. No more repeating the past. Achilles likes him. He has to believe that.

“... Could you please stop donating?”

Achilles flinched back slightly in surprise, blinking a few times. His eyebrows furrowed, but mostly he just looked confused. And hurt.

“What? Why?”

“It’s just… It feels... weird.”

“What's weird about it?” Achilles leaned back a bit, folding his arms. “I’m just trying to support you.”

“I know you are!” Please stop looking so hurt, I’m trying to be mature here “But there are other ways you can do it, and you support me anyway just by being there. You don’t have to give me anything.”

“I know I don’t have to!” Achilles unfolded his arms so he could wave them out a bit for emphasis, voice rising. “But I  _ want  _ to! I want to…” His voice fell, and he lowered his arms. He pursed his mouth, eyes lowered and darting, searching for the words he needed. “I want to make things easier for you, I know it’s hard on you to work all the time.” He met his eyes again, and Patroclus fell a little bit more in love with the gold in them. “I can’t be there for you yet, so I just… Want to be useful.”

_ “Oh.”  _ Patroclus is constantly aware of their distance, but he so desperately wishes he could hug Achilles in this moment. The anger dissolved into a rattling guilt. “I didn’t realize. I thought you just liked teasing me.”

“I mean… That’s a part of it.” Now with the air somewhat cleared, they could exchange shy grins without choking on them. He grew more serious, but no longer so defensive. “Why do you not like it?”

Patroclus cringed. Now with the feelings out there, his reasoning seemed much sillier in his mind. “To be honest… It makes me feel, uhm, shallow, I guess?” He scratched along the back of his head, dimly realizing he would be needing a haircut soon as well. “Like, I  _ know _ I’m not just dating you for the money or whatever, but it still feels kind of manipulative when you pay me even though we’re dating.”

“Ohhh, like a sugar daddy type of thing?”

He flushed “Y-yeah, kind of.”

_ “I mean,” _ Achilles grinned and leaned back a bit, hands folded behind his head, “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

_ “Achilles!” _

“Right, sorry, serious feelings talk.” He dropped his arms. “You know it’s no trouble for me, right? I have plenty of money to spare. And I like spending it on you.”

“I know,” What a strange man, who can just say these things without an inch of self-consciousness. “It just bugs me. Sorry, I know it's kind of stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. I don’t really get it, but you’re not stupid, so this isn’t either.”

Patroclus released a relieved breath. “Okay.”

“Has it been bothering you for a while?”

“... A little bit. It didn’t so much when we were just friends, but after we started dating it just kind of built up.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

That name still hurt, but in a good way. Like when you stretch a stiff muscle. “It’s not your fault, I should’ve said something sooner.”

Achilles waved the statement away with a hand. “I’ll find different ways to treat you like the prince you are.”

Patroclus hid his face in his hands, delighted and mortified. “How can you just say these things with a straight face?”

Achilles leaned closer to the camera. This was a favorite game of his. “I think you are so beautiful and smart and funny and I love spending time with you.”

_ “Stooooop.” _ Patroclus melted down his chair.

“I think your voice is so sexy, and you make me so happy when you text me good morning.”

Usually this type of thing would wake up the voices of doubt, that Achilles was a liar or Patroclus was tricking him or that he didn’t deserve all the good coming to him. And it did, but for now it was quiet enough to ignore. Never gone, just weaker.

And even if it killed him, Patroclus was going to find a way to kneecap the bitch. Being happy was much too addictive.

* * *

  
  


“...Hmm? Is everything okay, baby?”

He sounded like he just woke up, voice low and a bit scratchy. Must've been dead asleep, he only called Achilles ‘baby’ without realizing it, or when he was worried.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” His voice was a bit rough as well, although for different reasons, and he was glad Patroclus couldn’t see him slouching as he sat on the foot of his bed. He would always nag his posture. Something about early onset arthritis. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

He could hear Patroclus shuffle around in his blankets. “It’s nearly 4 AM, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry Pat, you can go back to bed, I didn’t realize-”

_ “Achilles,” _ He was powerless against that voice. So soft and strong. “What's wrong?”

Achilles took a shaky breath, and Patroclus, the sweetheart, the angel, waited patiently for him to get his shit together. His throat felt sticky with anger and unshed tears. “My dad called me.”

He heard some shuffling on the other end of the call again, but Pat remained quiet. He always knew when to let Achilles think. He was so smart.

“He- he texts me every once in a while. Usually random news articles he thinks are interesting, y’know? And... He’s never really understood what I do, and that's fine, I get it, but today he calls me up and it starts off normally enough. Telling me about some trip he’s going on soon with his girlfriend and it’s  _ fine, _ but then…” Another unsteady breath. He stands up, and starts to pace a bit. The energy couldn’t cool down under his skin, he had to get it out somehow.

“Then he asks me why I dropped out of college. And, I mean, it’s been years, you know?” He does something that is supposed to be a laugh, “Where the hell is this coming from now? So I told him what I told him before, it wasn’t for me, I was miserable, I wanted to make a career out of streaming and esports and  _ I did!  _ But then he starts saying-” His voice chokes a bit, and he feels stupid, he knows he sounds stupid, but he also knows Patroclus would never think that. He was too good. It was okay to be stupid around him.

“Saying that I just didn’t try hard enough. That this wasn’t sustainable, that I was wasting my potential, and that a four year business degree or sports medicine or whatever would be better. Would be  _ easy. _ But I’m not…” His voice became pitifully small, and he both hoped and dreaded that his words could be picked up by the phones speakers. “I’m not  _ smart. _ I’ve always fucked it up in school, even when I tried it never  _ looked _ like I was trying. That's what everybody said. I just wasn’t trying hard enough. But I  _ was.  _ I just couldn’t…” He wasn’t crying, but it was a near thing. “I just couldn’t do it, Pat.”

_ “Baby.”  _ He was starting to sound choked up too. Fuck, he made his  _ boyfriend _ cry. “Achilles, listen to me.”

Achilles stopped his pacing. He could at least to this right.

“You are  _ not dumb.” _

“Patroclus…”

“Let me say this, I think you need to hear it. Okay?”

“...Okay.” He sat back down on the bed. He felt small like this, but in a good way.

“I know you, Achilles, and you are _not_ stupid. You are so bright and imaginative and quick to pick things up, it’s why you’re so good at what you do. It's why you're the _best._ School isn’t a marker of intelligence, just how much bullshit you can put up with. And you put so much into the things you love, why should you have to force yourself to do something you hate?”

Achilles doesn’t realize he’s crying until he lets out an ugly little sniffle, which makes Patroclus let out a tiny, choked up  _ “Baby, no!” _

Achilles laughs wetly. “Why are  _ you _ crying?”

“Because  _ you’re _ crying! Because you don’t think you’re smart!”

He can’t seem to stop laughing through his tears, now that he’s started. “Pat, I nearly flunked out of the 6th grade!”

_ “6th grade is bullshit anyway!” _

He’s fully laughing now, much too loud for 4 AM in his bedroom while tears roll down his face, but it feels good. It feels like coming home.

They both keep making gross sniffles into their phones and wiping their faces and occasionally breaking out into broken laughter. But it’s good.

Achilles lets out a long breath. “I just feel like it’ll never be good enough for him. Like, maybe he’ll always be expecting something I can’t give.”

“Mm, Maybe. But I think sometimes you have to disappoint a few people in order to be happy.”

“... Wow. That was really deep, Pat.”

“I think I saw that online somewhere, don’t give me too much credit.”

“Ha, okay.” Achilles bounced his leg a bit. He still felt wound up, but it was late as hell. “I should let you go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you up.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you did. You can wake me up anytime just to talk.” Achilles loves him. “And I’m awake now. Could you keep me company for a while?” Achilles  _ loves him,  _ because he can hear the sleep in his voice, but he’d stay up anyway for him. He might (big might there) not be stupid, but Achilles sure was selfish.

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broke my nearly daily update stride there, but I feel pretty good in the groove again. Will probably have to pace these out more because college or whatever. Also I was pretty excited first planning out the story like "Okay I won't end it when they get together, that'll be interesting!" and then after they got together I was like. What. How the fuck. Where am I. But I think I know the plan now.
> 
> I give Pat my depression and anxiety, so I give Achilles my ADHD, for fairness. He can have some insecurities too, as a treat.  
> Also my friend Jetblack-sun said that the way I write Achilles is lesbian coded and I have never felt more seen in all my life. Art truly does reflect the artist. Yeehaw.
> 
> Also I'd like to say, because I tried to include it in the fic itself but it just sounded weird and out of character, but I don't think there's anything wrong with casual relationships or sex, I just write Pat having an unhealthy habit of them in the past.


	11. Stun Lock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A situation whereby the player character cannot act for a long period of time due to being periodically stunned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter, there is both description and discussion about a character experiencing depression. There are a few dark thoughts, and a mention of having self-harming ideas in the past, although it is not described. Let me know in the comments if you need a description.

Patroclus started to feel it towards the end of his shift. The pool was nearly empty now, save for a few people doing laps and a man seemingly content to lean on a wall, half submerged. No kids or anyone who seemed to be a weak swimmer, so he took this moment to quickly run a test on the water before he went home.

As he crouched over the waters edge, idly checking on the pool-goers as he waited for the litmus paper to change color, he felt it begin to creep over him. It started in his arms, then running up the back of his skull and down his body. The effort it took just to hold the paper in the water suddenly felt herculean. The calcium in his bones became lead, and something near his heart sunk down until it was caught against his bottom most rib. It was harder to think, but clear as a bell a word rang through his mind.  _ God-fucking-damnit. _ Technically three, but who's counting.

The pool chemicals were fine. Probably wouldn’t need adjustments for another few days, which Patroclus dutifully passed on to his shift replacement. He changed. He got into his car. He drove home. He tried to watch TV, to scroll through Twitter, to make himself dinner, but whenever he started it just felt like too much. The TV was both too loud and incomprehensible, the effort it took to understand the written word felt imbalanced with the information itself, and after picking up a bowl and staring at it for a few heartbeats he realized he wasn’t hungry at all.

Pat wasn’t surprised, really. He could feel it encroaching bit by bit for a few days now, but it always snuck up on him how quickly it could seize his limbs. Maybe it was because of the changing seasons. Patroclus always loved fall weather, but his brain sure didn’t.

This was just _stupid_ though. Things were going great! Achilles would be coming over in about two weeks, his job at the indoor pool wasn’t the best but it wasn’t  _ bad,  _ and he’s been steadily growing his channel, so he didn’t have to worry about rent even without Achilles’ donations. There’s no reason for it, no trigger.

Maybe things were just going too well. Karma, and all that.

_ If karma existed, I would’ve been hit by a bus a long time ago.  _ Maybe that was the dramatic irony of it. Give Pat a good few years, then take it all away.

This was an old song and dance though, and he knew what to do, even if the steps were painful. He dug out a box of protein bars he kept in his nightstand, some chocolate and nut kind he actually liked the taste of, and ate it in slow bites instead of dinner. It was Monday, so he had today and tomorrow off from streaming, as he had found they were his slowest days, but he sent a quick dm to Automedon letting him know he may have to miss some days this week, and to remind him on Wednesday.

The thought of taking a shower feels impossible, but going into the bathroom feels doable. He stands there for a few minutes. Taking off his shirt feels doable too. Then the rest of his clothes. Then turning on the shower. Soon he’s washing the chlorine out of his hair. Ha. Oldest trick in the book.

He dries himself off and changes into a loose T-shirt he doesn’t remember ever buying, and collapses into his bed. He feels exhausted, but sleep still eludes him. He tries to watch something on his phone, but it just becomes irritating trying to find something that doesn’t bore him to death immediately. His chest feels hollow and burning at the edges. Film too close to the projector.

When Achilles texts him to ask if he was off work and could call, Patroclus tells him he’s too tired today, and was going to take a nap. It wasn’t quite a lie, and it just saved them both the trouble.

* * *

Patroclus hasn’t called him in days, and Achilles is trying very hard not to freak out about it.

It’s not like they call everyday (they both had work and streams and responsibilities) but it was a near thing, and even if they couldn’t talk for too long they’d still have a quick chat over breakfast or on Patroclus’ break. And it’s not like Pat is ignoring him either, they still text goodmorning and goodnight and little ‘how are you’s’ or pictures Achilles thinks Pat would like (sometimes of himself, which once in a blue moon Patroclus would respond with in kind). But when it came to calling, video-chatting, playing a game,  _ anything, _ Patroclus always had an excuse. He was too tired, he promised to help Bri with something, he had to clean his apartment, so on.

And, for as much as it seems the opposite, Achilles knows he can be a bit much. He can be too intense, get too angry or too sad at the drop of a hat, get obsessed with something he didn’t know how to let go, interrupt or talk too loud or too fast. At the moment, he couldn’t tell whether his worry was worth pursuing or just something to let pass. So at first Achilles accepted this. People need space sometimes, and he missed Patroclus  _ so much, _ but this was bound to happen at some point because of the distance. So he tried to be normal, and did his best to restrain himself from being too pushy about it. It was fine.

But then Patroclus stopped streaming.

Achilles would often tell him to take more breaks, to not worry about needing a day off, but Patroclus always told him he genuinely loved doing what he did. He liked talking to people and playing games with them and being able to help, even if it was in the smallest way possible, with a bad day. So when he sent out a tweet saying he’d not be streaming for a while and with no explanation, that was a red flag to Achilles.

When he asked, he got the same thing. He was fine, he just needed a break, he couldn’t call,  _ I’m sorry. _ No excuse this time. Achilles asked why.

Patroclus didn’t answer.

He tries again, a little while later, after going on a run to get rid of some of the worry. But he doesn’t get a response.

Achilles hates this. He hates this because he doesn’t know what to do. He hates feeling powerless and stupid and unwanted and  _ useless. _ He hates himself for thinking about it in such self-involved terms when something was wrong with Patroclus.

He decides to wait, and it is painful but he does. He tries again the next day. Nothing. He calls. The first time he hears Patroclus’ voice in days is from his voicemail.

_ “God-fucking-damnit!” _ He throws his phone at the wall (this one with an extra thick case and a fat warranty) to which his neighbor knocks back at the noise, and Achilles has to  _ really _ restrain himself from doing something petty like breaking all the potted plants on her porch. He was already on thin ice with his landlord.

Achilles really hates having to ask for help. But for Patroclus, he would. Who could he ask, though?

* * *

Auto loves his horses, but he swore to god he was this close to going insane trying to put up with them. His sister was being a real pill about feeding them, even though it was  _ her chore this week, _ and now he had hay stuck in his binder that took hours to get out and if he moved just right, would somehow materialize back in and stab him. Plus, Xanthos has gotten into this hilarious habit of sneaking up on Automedon and nipping at his hair when he least expects it. His mom always called the horses dumb, but that was just a ruse so you would lower your guard. He knew the truth.

So he was already tired and a bit grouchy when he settled into his chair to begin his usual Mod Responsibilities™. Check the sub only discord, make sure the auto-ban bot was working correctly, delete the dm's he got from people pissed at being banned for saying a slur ‘ironically’, and- wait what the fuck?

That can’t be right.

_ this is otto right?? _

_ pats mod _

_ Uhhh yeah. It’s Auto though _

_ right whatever have you heard from him lately? _

_ And who is this? _

_ achilles _

_ Riiiight. And why should i believe you? _

_ i really don’t have time for this i think somethings wrong _

_ I hear you man but i am a minor and you are asking for personal info on my friend and saying that you’re Achilles. I’m going to need some proof _

_ … _

_ fuck ok thats a good point _

_ would a picture be ok _

_ Nothing sus or I’m blocking you. _

_ And I know how to use reverse image search _

_ Wait no _

_ waht???? _

_ Send me a twitter dm. I’m @3xEpona _

_ ok _

And, sure as shit, he got a twitter dm from fucking  _**aKILLeus**. _ What the fuck.

_ What the fuck _

_ ok you believe me now?? _

_ Uhhh yeah I guess _

_ What did you want? _

_ im really worried about patroclus. he hasn’t called me in days and hasnt texted me since yesterday _

_ did he tell you why hes not streaming?? _

_ Ohhh _

_ Right _

_ I guess he didn’t tell you _

_ what whats going on!! _

_ I’m not sure if I should say anything if he hasn’t told you _

_ Auto. please. I’m really fucking worred _

_ I wont keep bugging him if thats what he wants, i just want to make sure hes ok _

_ can you get in touch with him?? please _

_ Ok man. I got you. I’ll check right now _

_ thank you _

Later, Automedon was going to have a nice fanboy freak-out at talking to  _ the Achilles _ on discord, but right now he had more important things to attend to. Achilles might be Patroclus’ shiny new friend, but Auto knew how to get Patroclus to talk.

_ Hey Pat are you online? _

_ I had a really bad day at school and want to vent, if that’s ok _

A few minutes.

_ Yes of course what happened? _

_ Can you hop on call? _

_ Sure. _

Oldest trick in the book.

Patroclus joins the discord call after about a minute, and Automedon is pleased to see (judging from the little green online status icon) he was using his computer and not his phone. Not laying in bed anymore. That's a good start.

“Hey, Auto, are you okay?” His voice sounded a bit deeper than usual, but he didn’t sound like he was crying or anything. Auto would ask if they could use video, but he didn’t want to push it.

“Yeah, I’m good. I lied. School was fine.”

“Uhh, okay? Why did you call me then?”

“Because! We’re going to play Minecraft!”

A pause. “I don’t really feel up to streaming right now…”

“Not streaming. Just want to play with you, man.”

“I don’t know… I’m not sure if I feel up to it. I’m sorry.” His voice was too small, but Auto knew when to push and when to let things go.

“Just for an hour, Pat.  _ One hour, _ then we can stop playing.”

Another pause. A sigh of defeat.  _ “Okay, _ fine, one hour. I’ll warn you though, I haven’t played in years.”

As they booted up their games (having to wait a bit as Patroclus caught up on backlogged updates) Automedon sent a quick dm to Achilles.

_ He’s ok, I’m in a call with him _

_ ok good _

_ do you think hed talk to me now? _

_ I’ll bring it up in a bit _

* * *

“Holy shit, they added  _ bees?!” _ Patroclus really should be keeping up with this, he played video games for a  _ living,  _ for christ's sake, but he somehow missed all the new stuff added.

“If that’s a surprise wait until you see all the new shit in the nether.”

“Wait what-  _ the fish have models now?!” _

“Try and keep up old man!”

Patroclus was still feeling heavy and burnt around the edges, but as he and Automedon continued to play, and the hour passed into two without either of them realizing it, he felt better than he had in days. It was kind of embarrassing to have to be pushed by a teenager to play video games in order to get out of bed, but he was too proud of what a wonderful person Auto was turning out to be. Even if he peaked his mic on purpose just to fuck with Pat.

“Hey, thanks for this, Auto. I really needed it.”

“Of course man,” Unlike Briseis, Auto was pretty good at being genuine, although it feels like it should be the opposite. “To be honest I didn’t just think of it on my own.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, uh, Achilles dm’d me actually.”

_ “...Oh.” _ And there was the sharp guilt-panic he knows and loves. Missed you buddy.

“I told him you were okay, so you don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to, but I’m guessing you haven't told him about this yet.”

“No. I haven’t.” And it’s not like Pat  _ didn’t _ want to talk to him, to let him know he was okay, but when he asked why he couldn’t  _ think of anything _ and he was already needy, already too sensitive and weird, Achilles shouldn’t have to put up with this shit on top of that. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes. He wouldn’t be too much this time.

“Well. I’m not going to tell you what to do,” He could hear Automedons chair rhythmically squeaking. Him and Achilles were similar in that way, never stopped moving. “But Achilles was really worried about you, and I think you should talk to him about it. It’ll only get worse the longer you wait.”

Patroclus leaned back in his chair, groaning at the ceiling stain that looked like a cat. “Stop being more mature than me, it’s pissing me off. You’re like twelve.”

“Seventeen.”

“Practically an infant.”

“I can  _ drive.” _

“They’ll give anyone in Texas a license! That place is a lawless hellhole.”

Auto yelled ‘Yeehaw’ so loudly it peaked his mic.

“Alright! Alright, I’ll talk to him. Sorry to bring you into our relationship drama.”

“Eh, it’s fine-  _ wait.  _ Relationship drama?!” And with that, Patroclus left the call. He doesn’t have enough bravery to both call Achilles and face up to  _ that. _

Oh fuck, calling Achilles. Right. Okay. He could do that.

He spent an embarrassingly long time hovering over the call button on his phone.  _ It’s too much. You’re being too much. This is too much. _

But as the voices and the molasses in the air worked in tandem, it reminded him of something.

_ So much. _ He said that, didn’t he? Achilles liked him.  _ So much. _

Maybe this was okay too. Only one way to find out.

* * *

Achilles had been furtively scrolling Twitter and reading back his dm's, leg bouncing in a staccato that would surely cramp up his leg soon, so when the incoming call from 💖💕 _ Patroclus  _ 💞🥵 popped up on his screen, he accidentally declined the call.

“SHIT FUCK NO FUCK  _ SHIT SHIT SHIT-” _ Achilles scrambled to his contacts page and called Patroclus back at record time. He picked up after two rings.

“... Hey-”

“Are you okay? What-”

They fell silent. Achilles took a deep breath. His heart was still pounding. “Go ahead.”

One moment. Two.

“I’m so sorry Achilles.” Oh no, those are parting words. Before he could overanalyze it however, Patroclus continued. “I’m sorry I didn’t… I’m sorry for shutting you out. For ignoring you.”

“Did I-” Achilles picked at the skin around his fingertips “Did I do something?”

_ “Oh, _ no, no Achilles it’s not you-  _ fuck.” _ His voice sounds so distressed. Achilles wants to help but doesn’t know how and he  _ hates it. _ “I’m just, I’m having a… A depressive episode, right now.”

“Oh.” Right, he’s talked about that before. Of course. “You know you could’ve told me right?”

Patroclus’ silence is deafening, and Achilles can’t take that, can’t take the thought of Pat not being able to rely on him, to  _ trust  _ him. “You know you can, Pat!” He knows he sounds desperate, because he is. “I’d do anything for you!”

“I know!” He sounds desperate too. “I know, but-” He sucks a breath through his teeth. “Nevermind, nevermind, it’s okay, you don’t have to worry-”

_ “No!”  _ Achilles realizes this is the first time he’s ever seriously raised his voice at Pat, but can’t feel the shame of it over the wretched burning in his chest. He stands, alone in his apartment. “No it’s not okay!  _ I’m still fucking worried Pat! _ I can’t help it when you disappear for nearly a week and I find out it’s because you’re depressed! Do you know how sick I felt, wondering if I did something to piss you off, wondering if you were safe, and knowing I’m too far away to do anything if you weren’t?!”

Achilles' harsh breathing is the only sound between them for a while, and in that quiet Achilles can finally start to feel the shame. He  _ yelled  _ at Patroclus. Before he could say anything else though, Patroclus beat him to it.

_ “I’m sorry…” _ And dear god, his voice is too small, too shaky, too  _ broken. _ It should never sound like that.  _ I did that. _

“No, Patroclus, sweetheart, I’m sorry for yelling. I’m so sorry.” Please believe me.

“I just. I just don’t want to ask for too much.” Achilles almost misses what he says, it was so quiet.

“Too much?”

“Uhm, yeah. I. I know I can be… A lot.” Achilles was very confused.  _ Who told him that? _ “Just with the anxiety and the over thinking and the,  _ everything. _ Heh,”  _ Who told him that?  _ “I know dealing with my issues can be a hassle. I just didn’t want to burden you any more than I have to.”  _ Who told him that? Who told him that? Tell me, so I can find them and fucking kill them. _

“You’re… No.”

A confused snort. “No?”

_ “No.” _ Achilles desperately searched for the words he needed. He couldn’t fuck this up, he  _ couldn’t.  _ “You’re not a burden, Patroclus,” He pretends to not hear his tiny gasp. He couldn’t lose focus yet. Patroclus always knew the right thing to say. He could at least try. “You’re… I think you’re so amazing, especially with what I know you go through. I don’t really understand it, and I’m not very good at this kind of thing, so you might have to explain it a few times, but.” Come on, you can’t do much from here, but you can do this. Come on Achilles. “It’s not a burden to care about you. I  _ want _ to help you. I want to be with you, in every way that means.”

Achilles fears he majorly fucked it up when he hears the little shaky breaths Patroclus is taking, but when he asks “Are you crying?!” in a panic, Pat just laughs.

“No, but I kind of wish I could... It’s harder to, when I’m depressed.”

“Oh.” He's talking.  _ He’s talking to me. _ “What does it- what does it feel like?

“... It’s hard to describe. It makes it harder to think, and to move. It makes some things feel impossible, even if they’re the easiest thing in the world. I get tired really quickly, but it’s hard to sleep. Stuff I like either becomes boring or kind of annoying, I guess? Eating is hard.”

“Do you- do you want me to come over sooner? Do you need me to take care of you?”  _ Please please please let me do something for you. _

“Uhm, no, not really. I’m okay, I’m still eating and going to work and stuff. I know how to deal with it.”

“Do you have, uh, bad… Thoughts?” Dear god, he sounded like a homophobic pastor.

Pats laughter sounded more genuine this time. “No, nothing like that. I haven’t had thoughts of hurting myself in a long time.”

_ “Good,”  _ Achilles felt a vice ease from his ribs. “Do you take anything for it?”

“Yeah. Not all the time, because they make me kind of nauseous, but I’m taking something now.”

“Uhmm,” Achilles was running out of immediate questions that came to mind, but he didn’t want to stop talking yet. “How long does it last?”

“Well, it used to last for months at a time. That’s been getting better though, and with the meds it doesn’t stick around for more than a week or two, usually. Sneaks up on you, though.”

“Yeah,” He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to do something. He had to feel useful. “Is there anything I can do to help? Please?”

Patroclus is quiet for a few moments. He hummed a bit.

“How about this; I’ve been sleeping through my alarm lately, so if you could call me in the morning and make sure I get up, that’d be a big help.”

It feels a bit condescending, like asking a child to guard the groceries with their life just so they don’t wander off, but if Achilles can’t do anything else, he’ll do this.

“I can do that.”

“Thank you.” There’s a smile in his voice now.

“...I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry for all this.”

Achilles wants to say that he doesn’t have to say sorry, that he didn’t do anything wrong, that he would find and tear out the heart of whoever made him think he was too much to be loved wholly as he is and drown them in the ocean.

But he can’t, so he says “I’m glad I’m here now.” instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I gotta add the hurt/comfort tag now huh? I really don't know how to tag this thing, should probably get on that.
> 
> I base Patroclus' depression on my own experiences of it, and I think my own feelings are also tied to my ADHD, so it might not line up with others.
> 
> Ok serious stuff aside, I hope hearing from Auto felt like a fun cameo because I got so weirdly excited when I realized as I was planning this out that he'd be in this chapter. I was like "There he is!! That's my boy!!!" he was like my favorite character from the Iliad
> 
> Also that little shower trick really does work sometimes. Just go into the bathroom and take off your shirt and your body will do the rest most of the time.
> 
> OH SHIT ALMOST FORGOT WE HAVE ART NOW
> 
> [by auxon and of Achilles being a big idiot simp baby](https://auxon.tumblr.com/post/645425179614494721/achilles-cringe-compilationpng-yeah-so-im-really)
> 
> [ by appleciderp of Pat and his whole twitch set up and Achilles asking about his dick](https://appleciderp.tumblr.com/post/644590396884828160/taken-the-split-second-before-patroclus-noticed)
> 
> [ by melonsharks from before I even published the first chapter!!](https://melonsharks.tumblr.com/post/644308257899511808/a-bunch-of-patrocluses-for-tandemunicycles-iliad)
> 
> I reblog it all on my tumblr and have like, two drawings of my own on there too


	12. BM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bad Manners"; conduct that is not considered 'cheating' but may be seen as unsportsmanlike or disrespectful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some NSFW stuff at the end, I'll put some extra space between line breaks for that.

It wasn’t easy, but it got better, and so did Patroclus. In the thick of it, he would always wonder, would this be the last time?  _ Would this be the one that finally gets me? _ But it never was, and he stopped hoping that it would be a long time ago.

Maybe not that long a time, but it felt like it. It felt like a lifetime since then.

Depression for him was never something you could shed lightly, and in fact was a painful process to do so. It was a lot of forcing himself to walk, forcing himself to cook, to accept phone calls, to stand and stare at his dirty dishes until he could gather it in himself to wash them.  _ Just one,  _ he’d tell himself,  _ it looks like a lot, but just wash one. _ Then the sink would be clear and the dishwasher running and he’d feel just a little stupid for not getting to it sooner. But he did it.

And before he knew it he didn’t feel as heavy as before. He could take a deep breath again, and when Achilles called and excitedly told him he had just realized that it's called a W because it was a ‘double U’, Patroclus didn’t have to fake the laughter that might’ve pulled something near his ribs because  _ ow. _

So now here he was, standing in the middle of his apartment, hair pulled back in a bandana (Pat still needs to get it cut, it got into his eyes sometimes now) and wearing his least favorite clothes, desperately trying to clean up everything depressed Patroclus left behind. The lazy bastard.

He began with the garbage bags that had started to pile up a bit around his door. Patroclus tried to do it all in one trip (like a real man) but really didn’t like the odds of accidentally spilling something on himself in the process, and instead took two with each arm full. Masculinity was bullshit anyway. Picking up the floors was always a struggle, as he had to force himself not to try and put everything away immediately or get so caught up reorganizing a single shelf he loses track of the rest. The floors cleared, he swept, vacuumed and mopped (where the trashbags had been sitting got a little gross), then repeated the process on his shelves, counters and tabletops. Clear, clean, organize, clear, clean, organize.

He raided his apartments over-priced washer and dryer units, using three at the same time to clean all of the clothes, towels and blankets he had neglected to change in his stupor. And when all that was done, he cleaned out his fridge too just so he could ride the high he was on before the exhaustion of it all kicked in.

Now, his bed made, his apartment clean, and all of his windows open to get rid of any lingering smell, he could collapse on his bed and not feel like he would grow roots and never move again. And just in time too, because Achilles would be coming tomorrow.

He tried to resist it at first, but then said fuck it, and wiggled a bit on his bed with a dumb smile on his face. He was excited to see his boyfriend, sue him.

_ Boyfriend. _ How surreal. Patroclus doesn’t know how the hell he got here. In his teens he wasn’t even sure he’d live to be 18. But here he was, 25, employed, still mentally ill but dealing with it, with a boyfriend he loves, and he’s  _ happy- _

Oh.

Loves.

_ Loves. _

Oh. Oh. Oh.

Patroclus blinks into the bright air of his apartment. It’s chilled by the breeze from the open windows, and he hates the cold but lets it wash over him anyway so he could blame the shocks up his arms and the flush on his face on the wind.

He presses one shaky hand the left side of his ribcage, feeling the crash of his heart and wondering if that little pressure he feels up against it is the gentle stroke of a finger it feels like, or just his imagination.

How long has that been there?

* * *

  
  


Okay. Be cool. Be  _ cool. _ It is very hard to be cool as he parks his motorcycle outside of Patroclus’ apartment but Achilles is trying his best and utterly failing because all he can consciously think is a chorus  _ I’m here I’m here I’m here I’m here! _

He does forget to drop the kickstand, causing the motorcycle to lean precariously to the side, so he takes that moment to catch it and break from his frantic thoughts. Deep breath. Achilles checks himself in the side mirrors, dragging his fingers through his helmet-flattened hair so it looks more playfully mussed than thoughtless. Smooths down the front of his low cut tank-top and jacket (his own merch, but it was genuinely comfortable shut up), and takes a quick glance to make sure the jeans he’s wearing (which have rips on the knees so big they practically expose his thighs) still make his ass look fucking  _ amazing. _ Check.

His mom always said to ‘exploit your assets’. Not sure if this is quite what she meant, but who knows with her.

He grabs his overflowing backpack from the saddlebag and throws it over one shoulder, quickly scans the buildings for Patroclus’ number, and tries his very best not to sprint to the door. He settles on a swift power-walk and takes the stairs two steps at a time.

And. He’s here.

Huh.

Achilles raises his hand, but freezes. He’s...  _ Nervous. _ More nervous than when he saw Patroclus for the first time, oddly enough. This should be easier now. But for some reason Achilles just can’t bring himself to knock just yet. C’mon, what the fuck are you scared of?

He doesn’t know.

Luckily, though, he didn’t need to find out. Because Patroclus opens the door, and before Achilles could lower his hand and pretend he wasn’t just standing there like a jackass, Pat scooped him up in an embrace and  _ picks Achilles up HOLY SHIT. _

It takes a second to process all this information, but, sure enough, Patroclus has his arms looped under Achilles’ butt, Achilles’ own arms and legs wrapped around Patroclus, and with a shared delighted burst of laughter, they swing around the little space in front of Pat’s door.

Achilles’ heart felt like it would  _ burst, _ so he leaned down and kissed Pat on his beautiful lips to release the pressure.

Patroclus’ spinning slowed to a stop, but didn’t put Achilles down as they kissed, slow and sweet and full of unsaid things.

Achilles slowly pulled back, smiling with his teeth and delighting at the crinkle around Patroclus’ dark brown eyes. He rubs their noses together, making Patroclus giggle and plant a quick peck at the corner of his lips. Pat sighed a happy little noise and just looked at Achilles for a while, eyes roving.

“Can I put you down now?”

Achilles pretended to consider, pursing his lips and cocking his head. “Hmmm… I don’t know, I quite like it up here.” He took his hands from around Patroclus’ shoulders and began playing with the hair on the back of his neck.

“You can come look at my room.”

Achilles gasped, wiggling in his arms. “Down, down!”

Pat laughed, lowering Achilles (more like Achilles unwrapping his legs and standing). He rushed into his apartment, turning this way and that to take it all in. It was... Just very  _ Patroclus. _ Achilles didn’t know how else to describe it. It wasn’t very decorated, a corkboard in his living room with scraps of brochures or little square photographs, a colorful blanket draped over his obviously worn down couch, the kitchen was small and a bit cluttered, with some (clean) dishes having to be stacked on the counter because of the under-sized cabinets. But it was taken care of. And homey.

Patroclus watches him from the sidelines, an indescribable but warm look on his face. Once he got his fill poking around the living room, Pat nodded to the door next to him.

Achilles wasted no time rushing over and bursting into Patroclus’ bedroom, ignoring Pat's call of “Don’t run, I’m on the second floor!”

Achilles wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling of being on the other side of the screen, in the actual room he’s seen Patroclus in countless times before, other than jarring. But it’s all there. The fairy-lights, the chair and set up  _ (he’s still using only one monitor and a laptop?) _ , the ‘ **SORRY THIS GIRL IS ALREADY TAKEN BY A SMOKIN’ HOT GAMER** ’ water-bottle sitting next to it  _ (Ha, that's almost accurate now!), _ and his bed.  _ His bed! _

Achilles threw his backpack on the floor and stepped up to the bed, and instead of sitting down or climbing into it, he just sort of leans until he can’t stand anymore, flopping face first into the pillows. It smells like him. Speaking of.

After a few more moments of breathing in the flannel pillowcases and relishing the tingle on his skin from  _ being in his bed! _ Achilles turns his head, and does that slow little smirk he knows looks good on him.

And from the look on Patroclus’ face, eyes dark and slightly dazed, just watching him from the doorway, he’d say he succeeded. Achilles flops onto his back, bending his knees and just slightly spreading his legs, stretching his arms above his head in the way he knew Patroclus liked to stare at. Achilles watched his eyes dart down his body, seemingly unconsciously biting his inner lip, but Patroclus remained at the door. That wouldn't do.

Achilles held up one arm, hand open, and reached out to him.

Patroclus blinked. He reached back.

Achilles pulled him to the bed, Pat letting out a surprised little huff, before settling on top of him, chest to chest, and legs tangled. He nestles his head at the juncture of Achilles’ neck and shoulder, just slightly scratching him with his stubble. This wasn’t  _ quite _ the seduction he was going for, but fuck it, he can roll with this.

Patroclus tucks his arms underneath Achilles shoulder blades, and Achilles mirrors him, wrapping his own arms around his lower back. They hold each other, closer still.

He then shoves his hands underneath Pat’s shirt all the way up his back, making him jump up with a shriek of  _ “Cold!”  _ Achilles laughs delightedly at his misery, until Patroclus, in his haste to get up and away from his boyfriends freezing hands, accidentally knees him in the crotch.

“Oh shit-  _ I’m so sorry!”  _ He doesn’t sound  _ that _ sorry, seeing as Patroclus was trying very hard not to laugh as Achilles curled up in a little ball of pain, hands cupped protectively over where he was just  _ assaulted. _

“I can’t believe,” Achilles’ voice is much too high pitched and wheezy for the deadly serious tone he’s using, even as he nearly falls off the bed “That after not seeing me for nearly a month,  _ you kicked me in the dick.” _

“I didn’t  _ mean _ to!” The laughter was in his voice now, even as Patroclus cradled Achilles head and ran his fingers through his hair, the absolute  _ bastard. _ “You surprised me!”

“So you assaulted me?!” The pain was subsiding now, but this was too much fun.

“Oh, shut up!” Patroclus leaned down and planted a wet kiss to the side of his head. “Do you need some ice or something, you big baby?”

Achilles turned his head so he was facing up to Patroclus, and did his best to make an innocent pout. “You could always kiss it better?”

This just caused Patroclus to start swatting at his head, so maybe his tactics need some adjustments.

They eventually settled into a new position, Patroclus’ head slightly leaning up on his pillows while Achilles laid his head on his stomach, Pat’s legs bracketing his waist and his arms wrapped loosely over his shoulders to rest on his chest. Achilles held Patroclus’ wrists in both of his hands, resting his ear against Pat’s middle and listening to the weird sounds his guts made. From this position, he could also feel the rumble of his voice. “Are you tired from the trip?”

Achilles  _ really _ wants to say no, flip over and spend the next 48 hours they have together just absolutely  _ ruining _ him.

But he realizes, just wrapped up together and breathing the same air, that this is good too. And he doesn’t like to lie. “A little bit.”

“How about this, we can take a little nap and when we wake up, I’ll take you out on a date.”

Achilles whines a bit, kicking out a foot. “I hate taking naps. It’s just wasting time,” He tilts back his head until he could see Pat. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

Patroclus eyes melted, and he cradles Achilles’ jaw in one hand, thumb mindlessly tracing his chin. “You won’t miss anything. I’ll be right here.”

And it is so soft, and sweet, that for now, he submits to the tenderness of the moment and settles against his tummy. Seduction can come later. This is good too.

* * *

Patroclus forgot that this was here. That’s the only real conscious thought he has in his mind at the moment. Said in the same tone as you would comment on the weather, but with the dread that rises like a tide that blots out the sun. He knows that Achilles has unconsciously walked a few paces ahead, and will probably turn to look for him soon. He knows that some of the kids in the skatepark are giving him weird looks, some random man stopping suddenly and just staring at the concrete slopes, unblinking. He knows now, Achilles has doubled back for him, and has leaned own a bit to quietly call his name. He knows these things, but can’t seem to do anything but stare until a firm hand is placed on his shoulder.

He jumps a bit, finally able to breathe and hear the gulls and remember his own name, and looks up after a moment to Achilles. He looks worried. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Patroclus could only nod, and take the hand on his shoulder to tangle it in his own. He tries to smile, but isn’t sure how convincing he can be at the moment. Achilles looks like he wants to ask more, but before anything else Patroclus knows they need to keep moving. As they walk, Pat just slightly leading Achilles, Patroclus squeezes his boyfriend's hand as he lists these things silently.

His name is Patroclus Megalêtor, he is 25, he lives in San Luis Obispo, his birthday is November 23rd, his best friends are Briseis and Automedon. He is dating Achilles.

A breath in. Hold. Out.

_ Now, what is happening around you? _ They just entered the boardwalk, the ocean is nearby. He could hear the waves, and the gulls, and smell the salt in the air. Kids are yelling and running by, but they’re okay,  _ they’re just playing. _ It’s autumn, but the sun is warm. Achilles’ hand is warm. Achilles’ hair looked beautiful in the sun. Everything was okay. In, hold, out.

Patroclus bumped shoulders with Achilles, who shot him a worried glance that softened at Pat’s more relaxed grin. “Everything good?”

“Everything’s perfect.” He swung their joined hands between them.

Of course, everything wasn’t perfect at first, but eventually the day grew into it. Patroclus hadn’t planned anything extravagant, no reservations or big gestures (he didn’t exactly have the time or energy beforehand), and for the first hour or so after arriving he still felt loose and airy in the worst possible way, like he would dissolve into seafoam. But if there was anything Achilles was great at doing, it was being distracting.

Achilles systematically  _ demolished _ any and every cheap (and most definitely rigged) carnival game they came across, and was much too proud of himself for it, in Patroclus’ opinion. Was the victory dance really necessary? Soon his arms were crowded with bobble-eyed stuffed animals, which he handed out to nearby children (much to the indignance of Achilles) save for one, a brown, floppy-eared puppy plush he tucked into a jacket pocket. It looked kind of like Poncho, sue him.

They wandered around, no real destination in mind, and just enjoyed being together. Whenever Patroclus would spot someone walking their dog, but was too nervous to approach out of nowhere, Achilles would shake his head and laugh, then lead him by the hand and ask if they could pet their dog for him. They bought two cups of elote (a Mexican street food made with corn and mayo and chili) which Patroclus had to finish Achilles’ cup for him because of the cilantro in it. Achilles said it tasted like soap.

When they passed a busker juggling three bowling pins, Achilles stopped for a moment to watch. Patroclus was a bit surprised, as this didn’t seem to be his type of thing, but that curiosity was soon turned to embarrassment as Achilles said “This guy sucks.” without any restraint in the volume of his voice.

Patroclus quickly tried to drag Achilles away, mortified, and only became more insistent when the juggler stopped his act, pointing with one pin in hand. “You think you could do better? I’d like to see that.” To which the small crowd gathered awkwardly laughed.

If Patroclus didn’t die of embarrassment first, he was going to  _ kill him,  _ because Achilles just shrugged, stepped up to the man, and said “Sure.”

The juggler quickly masked his surprise, holding out the pins with a flourishing bow, at which Achilles rolled his eyes before taking them, two between the fingers of one hand, one in the other. And, before Patroclus could throw himself into the ocean so he didn’t have to associate himself with the man anymore, Achilles began to juggle. It wasn’t anything super impressive comparatively at first, not too high up and at about the pace the juggler was going before. Pat was already surprised and impressed at that, but Achilles didn’t stop there. Gradually, at each rotation of the pins, he threw them higher, and higher, and higher still until they went over the height of the nearby handmade jewelry stand, the only sign of Achilles’ effort being his concentrated gaze and the occasional step forward or back he took in order to keep in line.

After a minute or so of this, Achilles let the pins drop, catching one and tucking it under his arm before catching the other two in each hand. He handed the pins back to the juggler, who had lost the ability to speak, and parted on this advice to him: “Get some real talent before you make people pay to watch you.”

Patroclus practically drags Achilles away by the arm, face burning at the murmuring of the people around them. Once they’re out of earshot and tucked against the corner of a short fence separating the boardwalk from the ocean, Patroclus grabs Achilles by the lapels of his jacket and hisses out  _ “Never fucking do that again!” _

“What?” Patroclus desperately wants to wipe that chuffed little grin off his stupidly beautiful face.

“That was so  _ embarrassing.” _ He hides his face in Achilles’ chest, which he just laughs at and wraps him up in a hug, swaying them side to side. Romantic bastard. Okay maybe it was a bit on Patroclus, but they don’t have the luxury of being close all the time.

“For  _ him _ maybe.”

_ “Yes for him!”  _ Pat leaned back, “You shouldn’t embarrass people like that, he’s just trying to make a living. Also all those people there,  _ eugh.” _

Achilles narrowed his eyes, considering. “But he wasn’t very good at it.”

Patroclus flopped his hands around  _ “Semantics!”  _ This just made Achilles laugh. “Besides, it’s hard to be better than you at anything.”

He hadn’t really realized what he had said until Achilles’ mischievous grin fell from his face and his eyes became much too focused. He leaned closer, nose to nose. “Say that again.”

_ “Oookay!” _ Patroclus voice is high and reedy as he leans away, face now burning for very different reasons, namely his boyfriend looking at him  _ like that _ in public. “You want to go to the beach? Let’s go to the beach!”

* * *

The water was too cold and they didn’t bring anything to swim in, but Patroclus knew these beaches well and found a perfect spot to walk barefoot, side by side with shoes held in one hand, alone and serene along the sand. It wasn’t quite sunset, but the sky was turning a burnished gold. Achilles fell a little more in love as Patroclus pointed out the species of crabs as he spotted them crawling out of the sand, or the mollusks they found stuck to the sides of rocks.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Achilles was broken out of his reverie, watching Pats hair dance around his face in the ocean breeze. “How did you find my channel? Was it on accident, or?”

_ Oh shit. _ Achilles could feel his face heat up, and suddenly wow the ocean was very interesting. He should look at that.

“... Achilles,” He tugged on his hand, voice more like a disappointed teacher than anything trepidatious, “If you’re a stalker and/or serial killer I feel like I have the right to know.”

_ “I’m not-!” _ Achilles whipped around, only to find Patroclus grinning and silently laughing at him.  _ Bastard. _

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad, can it?” Achilles' face turned a little redder. “Ohhh, now I have to know.” Pat clung the sleeves of his jacket, pulling excitedly. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Achilles' mouth screwed up, leaning away and looking above Patroclus’ head, until he finally broke with a groan. “Fine! But you’re not allowed to make fun of me, okay?”

“I would never.” Patroclus lied.

Achilles let out a put upon sigh. The things he must suffer through for love. “Okay, well, you know the game CS:GO?”

Pat looked a little surprised. “Uh, yeah, I play sometimes. Not on stream, though.”

“Yeahhh, uhm.” Achilles toed a clam shell by his foot, kicking it over the sand. “I sometimes play under a different username, and in a lower rank-”

“So you can beat people super easily?” Patroclus looked unsurprised, but still disappointed.

“Maybe, shut up,  _ anyway. _ I was playing a few months ago and I, uh, played against you.”

Patroclus looked a little confused, but nodded for him to go on. Achilles' face burned.

“And you totally kicked my ass. Like, majorly.”

His eyebrows went up. “I don’t remember this.”

Well ain’t that a kick in the ego. Achilles winced, but continued. “Yeah, I didn’t really talk or anything, but I was  _ really fucking pissed, _ like I thought about getting you banned for hacking or something,” Pat hid a sputter of laughter behind a hand, which Achilles appreciated. “But, like, you were so…  _ polite? _ I’m pretty sure some 13 year old called you a slur and you just said something like ‘Hey, that’s not very nice’.”

Patroclus couldn’t hide his laughter anymore, leaning over a bit at the force of it, and Achilles couldn’t help but be caught into it. “You make me sound like  _ Ned Flanders!” _

“You were though!” Achilles grin was brighter now, voice rising in joy at making his boyfriend laugh “You were like some kindly foreigner among the cesspool that is CS:GO and it was just so weird and jarring, and you totally kicked my ass, and I kind of wanted to get revenge but I was also so curious I just had to look you up.”

Pat took a few calming breaths from his laughing fit, standing up straight now. “And you found out I was some awkward little indie gamer?”

“I mean, yeah,” Achilles wrapped an arm around Pats shoulders, rolling his eyes fondly. “And I started to watch kind of out of spite. Like, who the hell is this guy, y’know?” Achilles looked out on the waves, gilded in the sun's light, tone softening. “But the more I watched the more curious I was. You weren’t fast paced, you weren’t overly goofy or trying to be funny all the time, you didn’t even play super popular games that could carry the stream for you. You just, did your own thing.” He glances at Pat from the corner of his eye, and can see the reflection of gold in the almost black of his iris as he stared out into the ocean. “There’s always a separation from the person and the performer with anything, with anyone. But with you,” He pulled him just a little bit closer, and Pat slowly rested his head on his shoulder. “I realized you were the closest I’d ever seen to just being genuine, in everything you did. Or if you weren’t, you were the greatest conman of all time. Either way, I really wanted to know you.”

They stand there, on the beach, facing the waves in silence for a few minutes. Achilles is quietly proud of himself for being able to say it all. Sometimes he didn’t even know what he was trying to say until it came out, and he’s glad this time it seemed to be right.

He suddenly thought of something. “Hey,” Achilles turned to face Patroclus, who lifted his head from his shoulder to do the same. “What did you first think of me, watching my streams?”

Patroclus doesn’t hesitate. “I thought you were an asshole.”

Achilles doesn’t feel too bad about getting Patroclus into a headlock and pulling him onto the beach, but does regret the action later when they have to walk back to his car with sand down his pants.

* * *

He can feel Patroclus’ body plastered against his back, one hand on Achilles’ hip and the other over Achilles hand as he presses him into the bed. Patroclus presses his nose under his ear, dragging his stubbly jaw deliberately over Achilles’ neck as he rolls his hips deeper into him and all Achilles can do is whine against the pillows because it’s all just too much and not enough.

As it turns out, Achilles was right in his previous prediction. Patroclus was an exceedingly gentle lover when he started, to the point that Achilles had to literally swat his hands away and open himself up because he was taking too long. That had led to a very fun little distraction where Patroclus just leaned back and watched, rubbing his hands up and down Achilles’ thighs saying things like ‘Oh, look at you’. 

Achilles had no goddamn clue what happened to his anxious and shy boyfriend, but he is not complaining at the moment. He doesn’t think he can remember  _ how. _

But still, even now, Achilles pressed practically face down into the bed with Pat nearly laying on top of him, he takes his time. Pressing into him in slow, deep strokes that just barely push Achilles’ hips up and cause his cock to drag against the sheets. It is  _ torture. _

“Are you doing okay, baby?” Pat whispers into his ear, but all Achilles can say is a tiny broken off ‘uh-huh’ that blends into a whine as he pressed deeper still. “Are you sure?” Patroclus tucked his arms under Achilles’ chest. “Your ears are so red.” He thumbs each nipple until Achilles has to lay his head to the side and pant. “And you’re not saying much. C’mon,” Pat pulled his hips back and slowly pressed back, letting out just the slightest rough sigh while Achilles groaned. “Weren’t you so chatty before?”

It was hard to talk around his own panting. “You’re…  _ Killing me.” _

“But what was it you said the first time? Oh, right,” Patroclus pulled back, holding himself up on his arms and nearly pulling out before thrusting all the way back in. Achilles almost doesn’t hear him over his own broken shout as he clung to the sheets near his head. “If I don’t fuck you, you would  _ die.” _

_ “Please!” _

Achilles felt a hand rub soothingly up and down his back. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.” And he delivered on that promise. No more slowness, no more gentleness as Patroclus held Achilles by the hips, lifting them slightly, and well and truly fucks him. Neither of them last much longer after that.

In the afterglow, Achilles lays with his head tucked against Patroclus’ chest, both biding their time before they had to go clean themselves up. Achilles pokes Pat in the ribs. “I’m going to have to get you back for that.”

“For what?” He can hear the grin in his voice.

“You know what. That was  _ mean.” _

Patroclus laughs, and it shakes Achilles head. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll let you get your revenge.”

_ “Good.” _ Achilles isn’t sure how, but he’ll figure it out.

In the morning, Patroclus makes them fried rice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody make eye-contact with me pt. 2, electric boogaloo
> 
> Okay, I swear things are going to happen at some point.  
> The internet is telling me trepidatious isn't a word but I feel like that is incorrect. Did I accidentally make up a word or something? It's like trepidation but an adjective.  
> Anyways, have a good night, comments make me happy so do those please, and make sure to take plenty of walks.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tandemunicycle) and say hi!
> 
> Lemme know what you think and if this is something I should continue on. I encourage any criticisms or advice, as I am a fresh faced babe when it comes to writing fanfiction.
> 
> Also let me know if you notice any spelling or grammar mistakes. I obsessively read it back but dyslexia will sneak up on you.


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